


The Time Is Relative Affair

by renn



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Quantum Leap, The Man From U.N.C.L.E., The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:09:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renn/pseuds/renn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrush is playing fast and loose with time travel, dragging items from 1999 back into their secret New Mexico lab in 1966. U.N.C.L.E. has noticed... as has the X-files division. Time streams cross, and it takes two versions of a certain Time Lord to put right what once went wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Like The Weekly World News Said....

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this story appeared in an issue of The Kuryakin Files. Although the 'zine is still in print, no one really pays attention to print 'zines these days, so I thought it safe to post here. (Also, the 'zine came out in 1999 or 2000...)

**emil lazerby’s secret laboratory complex**

**STALLION'S GATE, NM**

**MAY 7, 1966**

**8:30 P.M.**

 

The lights flickered again. Martin Weatherwax sighed as he checked the power gauge. They were already drawing 27% more energy than predicted and they hadn't even transported anything yet. He saw many sleepless hours bent over his sliderule ahead of him.

He glanced at his boss—or, rather, what he could see of him. Doctor Lazerby sat under a metal helmet that covered half his torso. The helmet was connected to a large computer bank, which in turn sucked power out of eastern New Mexico and far western Texas. He clutched a box with two handles that served as fine controls to pinpoint—supposedly—objects in the future. Weatherwax doubted that Doctor Lazerby could see into the future; he knew, though, that the power requirement meant that _something_ was going on. Still—

"Walkie-talkie!" Lazerby exclaimed suddenly, snapping his fingers and gesturing toward a large metal plate set in the floor in the middle of the room. Weatherwax dug through a box of transistor devices until he found the walkie-talkie, then hurriedly placed it on the plate.

The walkie-talkie faded out of existence.

Weatherwax's eyes widened…and then his mouth dropped open, because something different appeared on the plate. A loud "pop" killed power to both machine and room.

In the dim glow of an emergency light, Weatherwax scooped up the item. He was still staring at it dumbfoundedly a few minutes later when, having disconnected himself from the machine, Lazerby joined him. "What _is_ it, Doc?"

Lazerby took the object and studied it closely. About the size of his hand, the sleek black object had a number pad, a power button, buttons marked "send" and "end," some sort of tiny display screen , a retractable antenna, a small grid at top and bottom, and a discreet label reading "CellularOne." Lazerby pushed the power button. The display lit up; the object beeped. A small indicator—displayed how, he had no clue—showed battery strength at full. He had no idea what the words "no svc" meant. He sighed. "Well, whatever it is, I don't think it's a computer. We'll have to try again."

"I'll get on the power relays right away." Weatherwax pushed his stringy brown hair out of his eyes and left the room.

Lazerby turned the object off, then crossed to the safe and locked it inside. He returned to the power console to make notes in his journal on what he had heard in 1999.

 

**stallion springs, nm**

**May 9, 1999**

 

_Badda-badda-badda-boom!_ "Gotcha, pissboy!"

"Jacob! Language!"

"Aw, Mom, I'm shooting up aliens! What do ya—" _ratta tatta tatta boom! BEEP!_ "Shit!"

"Jacob—"

"It died again—and just when I was about to find the BFG _and_ Level 15! This has _got_ to be a defective program."

"Or a defective unit. Haven't other programs died on it?"

"Only _Toomb Destroyers of Galatico,_ but that's cause it was Dylan's cartridge an' Dylan's baby bro spilled apple juice on it. Can we go to Toys R Us _nowwwwwwwwwww?"_

"We'll go after lunch, on the way to pick up your sister from—what was _that?"_

"Uh, Mom? My Playstation's gone."

"Gone? How could—oh my God! I haven't seen one of those since I was a kid! Your aunt Tina had one."

"But what is it?"

"A Stack'n' Play. You played records on it."

"What's a record?"

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**stallion's gate, nm**

**May 9, 1966**

 

Lazerby loosened the last latch and pulled the interface helmet off. "Well?"

Weatherwax scratched his head, oblivious to the dandruff that drifted down. "Beats me, Doc. It could be a computer, but there's nothing but this hand-held button panel and—" he paused to press a button on the unit. A cartridge the size of a pack of index cards popped out. " _Dune Trasheim III: Gratuitous Violence._ Is this a computer program?"

Lazerby shook his head. "From what I heard, I think it's a game of some kind. Oh, well, third time's the charm, eh? Put that thing in the safe. I gotta pee." Lazerby left the room.

Weatherwax opened the safe, placed the Playstation inside, and pocketed the cellular phone. He had a business card of a person who might be interested in seeing a device from the future—and, as he was starting to get really scared about these experiments, he felt it necessary to call.

 

**new york, ny**

**u.n.c.l.e. headquarters**

**May 13, 1966**

 

"Power surges?" Napoleon Solo repeated, studying a map of the western United States projected on the wall of his superior's office. "And it's not the government's fault? They have so many allegedly secret facilities in New Mexico…."

"We thought it was the government at first. But then our Albuquerque field office received an interesting package in the mail." Waverly touched a button on his console.

The office door slid open. Illya Kuryakin—straight from the labs, judging from his glasses and lack of suit jacket—brought in a small black device. He handed it over to his partner. As Napoleon examined it, he said, "As far as we can tell, it's a telephone."

"It looks like something out of a science fiction film."

"It contains technology currently only known to us."

"So it's a cousin to what? The pen communicator? Then why do you think it's a telephone?"

Illya took the device back and pressed a few buttons. He showed Napoleon the display. "A telephone number, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, but to where?"

"A pizza parlor in Stallion's Springs, New Mexico."

Solo's eyebrow rose. "Did you call it?"

"Not on this phone. It doesn't seem to be connecting with whatever satellite it needs to function."

"Hmmm." Solo looked at his superior. "Where exactly did this telephone come from?"

"If we're to believe the gentleman who sent it, the year 1999."

"1999?"

"Thrush would seem to be funding time travel experiments."

Napoleon nodded, straightening his tie. "I take it we're off to New Mexico."

"With utmost speed, gentlemen. Find out if this time travel claim is legitimate—and if it is, put an end to it." Waverly turned the lights back on and reached for his pipe.

 

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**stallion's gate, nm**

**May 13, 1966**

 

"Reel-to-reel player!" Lazerby snapped, gesturing frantically toward the metal floor platform.

Weatherwax pulled the played out of the box and placed it on the platform. It promptly faded away, a metal box of similar proportions taking its place. He gave the new arrival a once-over. "I wonder what 'VCR Plus' means?" It was much lighter than the reel-to-reel player, but still needed two hands to lift it. The front had a couple of buttons and a large slot; the back had some RCA jacks and other, unfamiliar connections. Some kind of cassette seemed stuck in the front slot. Pressing the "eject" button, however, did nothing.

Lazerby witnessed the tail end of Weatherwax's exam. "Maybe if we plugged it in…."

"I'll have to mess with the fuses again first." He passed the device to Lazerby before heading out.

Lazerby placed the device on a work bench and reached for a philips-head screwdriver. Humming to himself, he undid the screws and took the top off. The lab door opened; Lazerby said, "Looks like some kind of video—oh." His face fell.

"Doctor L, hard at work as always." A slight, stocky man with dark, graying hair and a nicely tailored navy suit hopped onto a stool opposite the scientist. "That doesn't look much like a computer, though.”

"It's a video recording machine of some kind." Lazerby noticed the stuck cassette had a label. "Ah. _2001: A Space Odyssey._ That would explain a lot."

"No luck?"

"We're getting a lot of interesting devices, but no computer."

The visitor clucked his tongue. "Too bad. My superiors report that people are starting to get suspicious about the amount of power you're using. I can authorize one, maybe two more attempts. No more."

"Then that's too bad for you, isn't it, Mr. Crane? Because if you stop the experiments before I do locate an advanced computer, you will have wasted a lot of money."

Crane shook his head sadly. "I see you misunderstand me. Two more tries. If you don't produce a computer from the future, I will have to take over the experiment."

"I won't give this up, Mr. Crane. Not while I'm alive."

"Exactly my point, Doctor L. Now, when can you try again?"

"Um, tonight, I guess."

"Great." Crane stood. "I will be back at eight p.m. Please don't start without me." He waved his hand as he left.

 

**en route to stallion's springs, NM**

**May 13, 1966**

**7:06 p.m.**

 

The sun had already set in the New Mexican sky by the time Solo and Kuryakin hit the state route that would bring them to Stallion Springs. Illya drove, working the rental Chrysler through the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains with unexpected speed and grace. Napoleon rode shotgun, enjoying the fresh night air, the blanket of stars above, the faint, odd blue glow just over the horizon…. "Stop the car a moment."

Illya pulled onto the shoulder, killing the engine. Napoleon hopped out, pulling a set of binoculars out of his jacket. He gazed at the horizon. As Illya joined him, he asked, "What's the population of Stallion Springs?"

"Four hundred twenty seven."

"And where are the nearest government installations?"

"There's the Fort Bliss Military Reservation, but that's some 50 miles southwest of our current location. You've obviously spotted something due east."

"Northeast, actually." He passed over the binoculars.

Illya adjusted them for his eyesight and looked. Off in the distance, a mountain glowed faintly, unnaturally blue. "Nice of them to leave a signpost, wouldn't you say?"

"We still should find the back door, though."

"Agreed. After dinner."

"Operating on your stomach again?"

"And you're still full on that delightful airplane meal?"

Solo chuckled. "All right, my friend, we'll grab a quick bite before calling on our feathered friends." He turned back to the car.

 

**same stretch of highway**

**May 13, 1999**

**7:06 p.m.**

 

The rented Ford Taurus sat on the shoulder of the road. A lanky, dark-haired man with warm hazel eyes and unconventionally handsome features scanned the eastern horizon with a slim pair of binoculars. He wore jeans, a blue-green T-shirt, a leather jacket, and the air of a five-year-old seeing his first parade. "Just like the _Weekly World News_ said, " he commented finally, a pleased grin lighting up his face.

His smile faded as he looked down at his partner. The petite, no-nonsense redhead had her arms folded across her chest and a look of annoyance on her face. "One of these days, Mulder, I'm going to ask why we're going to the middle of nowhere before we go. And when you tell me, I will politely decline."

Mulder winced. "Ooh, Scully, you hurt my feelings."

"Cruel to be kind."

"Hey, I've done my research." He leaned against the front end of the car. "And you're the one who pointed us here in the first place." Scully raised an eyebrow at him, tacit permission to continue. "Last week, when you were websurfing—we won't even go into the fact that it was on government time—and you came across that one 'Oddly Enough' article."

"What, the one about the cell phones and stuff being replaced by their 1960's equivalents?"

"Right. Well, you weren't the only one who was bored. I did some further research. All the replacements have been happening around Stallion Springs, New Mexico. The _Weekly World News_ has reported that right next door in Stallion's Gate, there's a mountain that glows unnaturally blue." He passed the binoculars over so Scully could see for herself. "It turns out that Stallion's Gate is home to Quantum Leap—a government project so secret that you need an alpha clearance just to read the transcripts of the appropriation hearings."

"So?"

"So….on May 24, 1966, Major Irvin Meadows of U.S. Airforce Intelligence and his associate Doctor Hartley interviewed one Maxwell Stoddard, a 79-year-old man purported to have witnessed an UFO Event. Once under sodium penethol, however, Stoddard claimed to be Doctor Sam Beckett, a quantum physicist running a time travel experiment called Quantum Leap. He also said that the date was May 1, 1999."

"You don't mean _the_ Doctor Beckett, do you?"

"You've heard of him?"

"Anyone who has done any work in physics has. _Time_ magazine called him 'The Next Einstein.' He won a Nobel Prize for his work in artificial intelligence, and—"

"And what?"

"And…he sent me a note once congratulating me on my senior thesis."

"Oh, 'Einstein's Twin Paradox,' huh?"

"Yes. So you think Doctor Beckett is behind these swaps?"

"As good a place as any to start. Let's do some observing tonight, and go over there tomorrow in our G-suits and ask some pointed questions."

Scully sighed. "Okay, Mulder, but you buy dinner. And no fast food, either."

"You're a hard bargainer, Scully." Mulder headed back to the driver's side door. "Do you think that Stallion Springs has a pizza place that delivers to the middle of nowhere?"

 

**lazerby’s laboratory complex**

**stallion's gate, nm**

**MAY 13, 1966**

**7:58 p.m.**

 

Thompson Crane checked his watch as he parked his Town Car next to the shack that hid the entrance to Lazerby's lab. Excellent timing, as always. Two minutes to descend to lab level should cover it. He stepped into the shack, locked the door, and tapped a five digit number into an adding machine resting innocently on a desk. Hidden gears cranked; the entire floor descended several hundred feet. Crane readjusted his suit coat over his shoulder holster, then popped a stick of gum in his mouth.

The floor settled to the bottom. Crane stepped off it and through the doors. He found himself in the electrical room. Weatherwax was busy working on a circuit breaker. "How's it going, Waxie?" He patted the assistant hard on the shoulder, surprised at how the man stiffened. "Oh, come now, Waxie, I'm not that scary, am I?"

"How am I supposed to respond, sir?"

"I think you just answered your own question." Crane smiled. "You look a little sweaty, Waxie. You oughta crank the air conditioning a bit." He started out the door, heard Weatherwax sigh, and turned back. "Oh, say, Waxie… how long does it take to retool between tries?"

"Twelve hours or so."

"And if you had a gun to your head?"

"Uh…ten minutes?"

"Good man." Crane left Weatherwax shaking.

In the lab proper, Lazerby fed punch cards into his computer. He ignored Crane's entrance. Crane took advantage of the situation. He wandered over to the main machine. He picked up the helmet and looked inside it. "So, Doctor L, if I put this on, could I see the future, too?" He lifted it toward his head.

"No!"  Lazerby dove for the helmet, yanking it out of Crane's grasp with a savage pull. "It's calibrated to one person only—me! And I do not 'see' the future. I hear the future, and I have some spatial sense, but no vision. Why else would I be wasting all of your precious money on all these attempts?"

"Oh, I don't know, greed, incompetence, happens all the time." He drifted toward the computer. "Why's this on wheels?"

"You never know when you might have to move it."

"And this box of junk?" He pulled out a portable television. "Something to kill the time?"

"We have to balance what we take with something of approximate volume and material."

"Why?"

"Well, we don't want to create a hole in the space-time continuum, do we?"

"We don't?" Crane looked puzzled.

"Besides, it doesn't seem to work without the substitution."

"Uh huh." Crane perched on a stool. "But why only 33 years? Why not 133?"

"I can't seem to get past 1999, Mr. Crane. I have a feeling it’s because it's the year in which I die."

"Why should that matter?"

Lazerby grimaced. "Haven't you been reading my reports?"

"I have my secretary read them and summarize them for me. It's not like I have the time to keep up with all my projects."

"Well, if I'm taking up your time…"

Crane smiled. "You've got my interest piqued now. Why should the year you die affect how far in the future you can probe?"

"To spare you all the boring details…my time scoop seems to tap into my personal time line. That means I can only access things I would have had—or will have had—access to during my lifetime. Since I have not been able to access anything in the 21st century, I have concluded that I die sometime in 1999." Lazerby noticed a smudge on the helmet and polished it with a sleeve.

Crane thought about it for a moment. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"Actually, it makes it easier. Easier to plan, certainly."

Weatherwax entered the lab, tucking a flathead screwdriver behind his left ear. "Okay, Doctor Lazerby." He paused in front of the control panel and flipped some switches. "Powered up…now!"

"Thanks." Lazerby sat in the time scoop control chair. "Mister Crane, if you wouldn't mind, please stay out of the way."

"Sure." Crane shifted his weight on the stool.

Lazerby placed the helmet on his head and took the control joystick in his hands. "Weatherwax, fire up the accelerator."

"Commencing time scoop…now!" He threw a switch.

 

**Double d motel**

**stallion springs, nm**

**8:08 p.m**.

 

The lights flickered once…twice…three times before going out. In the darkness, a gun cocked, a door opened, and the harsh glare of an emergency light filled the room.

Napoleon dropped the curtain back over the window. "Relax, my friend—the whole street's out. And the mountain's glowing more."

"That would preclude dinner before the raid, then." Illya thumbed the safety back on, tucking his Special into his waistband and pulling his turtleneck over it.

"I have a Snickers bar, if you're interested."

"I am not desperate. Besides, working on an empty stomach will goad me into working faster."

Napoleon chuckled as he adjusted his windbreaker over his shoulder holster.

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**stallion's gate, nm**

**8:15 p.m.**

 

Crane, Lazerby, and Weatherwax stood around the bread box-sized electric box displayed on the work table, trying to figure out what it was. "To my untrained, non-scientific eye," Crane finally said, "That is _definitely_ not a computer."

Lazerby shrugged. "The gentleman using it was talking about programming it."

"Programming it for what?"

"Leftovers, actually." Lazerby opened the door and pulled out a steaming bowl of chili. "Hungry?"

"I'll pass."

"I could use—" Weatherwax began.

Crane silenced him with a warning glare. "Two hours, Waxie, I'm timing you."

Weatherwax nodded glumly and ran out of the room.

"What's that about?" Lazerby asked, rummaging for a spoon.

"You're going to try again tonight. And it's going to be your last try, so you better get it right."

"I'll try. I'm thinking, though, that perhaps computer technology isn't as advanced as I thought it might be. Or not as prevalent, certainly." He found the spoon in a pencil holder. Wiping it on his lab coat, he dug into the chili.

"Maybe you're just aiming too small."

"Too small?"

"Sure. I mean, look at the size of your computer. That's as compact as a computer can get, right?"

"Yes…."

"So what makes you think they'll get any smaller? Everything you've pulled back so far has not been a computer, right? But they have been small. Therefore, computers must still be big, even in 1999."

"I suppose…."

"Good." Crane retreated to his stool, checked his watch, and pulled out a battered copy of _Goldfinger_ from his jacket pocket. "An hour fifty, Doctor L. You might as well relax."

 

**project quantum leap**

**lunch room**

**MAY 13, 1999**

**8:15 p.m.**

 

Admiral Albert Calavicci glared at the portable black and white television that had replaced the microwave oven that had been warming his dinner. "Damn. And I was really looking forward to that chili, too."

"There are three other microwaves in the room, Admiral." The sultry, slightly disembodied voice of the Artificial Intelligence echoed throughout the lunch room.

"Yeah, but that was the last of Tina's four-alarm all-meat extravaganza." Calavicci sighed, then opened the freezer door to see what his other options were. "And you're sure we're not causing these time displacements?"

"Yes, Admiral. Although the technology seems similar, it's really much too primitive. The source is definitely in the mid 1960's. I am checking my data now for anything classified or not, governmental or not, having to do with time travel before Doctor Beckett's work."

"Well, if that's all we can—ah ha!" He pulled out a freezer tub. "Three-alarm, two bean, two meat—a noble substitute." He took the top off, laid a paper towel over the opening, and crossed the room to use one of the other microwaves. He caught his reflection in the microwave door. "Oh, geez…" He looked down at his tangerine jacket. His neon star pin had stopped glowing. "What else could go wrong?"

"A Ford Taurus has just pulled up 100.234 yards outside official Project perimeter."

"Pulled up how?"

"The engine has been turned off. The car is a rental."

"Who rented it?"

"Fox W. Mulder." The A.I. paused. "Special agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Recently reinstated head of the X-Files division."

"X-Files?"

"Unsolved cases, with an alleged-paranormal bent."

"Great. Probably read that _Weekly World News_ article, too." The microwave beeped; Calavicci pulled out his dinner and placed it on a table. He grabbed a spoon and a napkin from the condiment area and pulled out a can of Pepsi One from the refrigerator.

"Shall I send security?" the A.I. asked.

"Not just yet, Ziggy. Let me think on it."

"Wouldn't inviting them in compromise our security?"

"One of the things I'm weighing. Now, let me eat in peace, huh?"

"Of course, Admiral," Ziggy huffed.

Calavicci smiled and dug into his chili.

 

**just outside project quantum leap**

**8:18 p.m.**

 

Scully pulled her laptop case out of the trunk and got back in the passenger side of the car. Mulder offered her a selection from a box of Ding Dongs. "Dessert?"

She gave him a dubious look. "No Jolt cola to wash that down with?"

"Spoils the taste. Sure you don't want one?" Scully shook her head and unzipped her case. "Your loss." He took one out and tossed the rest in the back seat. He made a good show of unwrapping it and biting into it.

Scully plugged her adapter into the cigarette lighter. "How can you eat that?" She lifted the laptop screen and booted up.

"Yeah, I'm slumming, but they don't sell Chocodiles out this way."

Scully made a face as she opened her word processing program.

Mulder grinned at her reaction, then finished the Ding Dong and raised his binoculars to better study the glowing mountain. "When you gonna get a real computer, Scully?"

"Excuse me?"

"That Powerbook's so slow."

"It runs the programs I need."

"It doesn't run anything good."

" 'Good' meaning 'the latest versions of application software' or 'good' meaning 'the latest version of _Doom'?_ " She cocked her head in challenge, an amused smile quirking on her lips.

"Besides, your Powerbook doesn't support cellular modems. Think of having Internet access anywhere in the field— _anywhere."_

"Mulder, if you want to surf porn sites while on stakeout—"

"Why would I want to do that?" he said much too quickly.

"—get your own computer."

"Oh, and miss the challenge of having to dechiper my own handwriting once we're back in the office?"

"Watch your stupid mountain, will you?"

They settled into a companionable silence, with only the electric hiss of the mountain and the tapping of Scully's keyboard disturbing the peace.

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**stallion's gate, nm**

**MAY 13, 1966**

**8:22 p.m.**

 

Lazerby let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. He had heard all the words he had longed to hear—especially "computer." The mass seemed right—approximately the same size as his computer. He had found it at last. "Weatherwax, roll the computer over."

His assistant pushed the unit onto the metal plate, being careful of the wiring.

"What the hell?" Crane demanded, standing.

"Same mass and content, Crane," Lazerby explained.

"You're _not_ sending a multi-million dollar machine into the future."

"You want a newer model, don't you?"

"You can't guarantee it!"

Weatherwax said, "Okay, Doctor Lazerby."

"Done." Lazerby hit some buttons on the side of the joystick.

"No!" Crane lunged for the computer. He and Weatherwax fought to relocate it.

**outside lazerby's laboratory**

**8:24 p.m.**

 

The car screeched to a halt outside of the shack. "Come on!" Napoleon shouted, pulling his Special out and shooting the lock off the door.

Illya followed right behind, noting in passing that the mountain glow increased exponentially with every passing second.

 

**outside project quantum leap**

**MAY 13, 1999**

**8:24 p.m.**

The binoculars showed nothing but  a neon blue glow. Mulder pulled them from his eyes—and saw that the car itself was glowing. "What the hell—"

Scully looked up, eyes widening as she took in the enveloping glow. The light brightened; she started feeling woozy and sick. Mulder grabbed her hand, panic mixed with dizziness in his eyes. She squeezed his hand as she passed out.


	2. Would YOU Want to be told first thing in the morning that you were in a different year?

**inside lazerby's laboratory**

**MAY 13, 1966**

**8:26 p.m.**

 

The smell of burning wires made Lazerby rip the helmet off his head. The power cord to the missing computer sparked, but nothing seemed to be on fire—at least not in the lab proper. A car sat on the transportation platform—or at least he assumed it was a car. It was smaller and rounder than most cars, but not nearly as small and round as a Beetle. It had a "Ford" nameplate, four wheels, and four doors. He peeked in through the driver's side window. A man and a woman in their thirties lay sprawled in the seats, holding hands. An electronic keypad of some kind rested on the woman's lap. These two must have been whom he had heard in the future. The big question, though—were they still alive?

Running footsteps echoed down the hall, coming closer much too quickly. Panicking, Lazerby squeezed under the car and hoped he wouldn't be found.

 

Solo barreled into the lab, pulling up short at the sight of the car. Illya followed right behind. He surveyed the room before tucking his gun away and inspecting the car.

"How do you think _that_ got in here?" Solo finally asked.

"Time travel."

"Really?"

"That's what someone wants us to believe, at any rate. The plates supposedly expire in January, 2000." He noted the car's inhabitants and, opening the driver's side door, checked the man for a pulse and some I.D. "He's alive, at least." He found a wallet and a badge case. "Hmmm…FBI." He tossed the badge to his partner, then rummaged through the wallet. "According to his driver's license, he was born in 1961."

"Awfully precocious for a 5-year-old, wouldn't you say?" Napoleon looked at the badge. "Fox Mulder, eh? Where have I heard that name before?"

"We dealt with a William Mulder last year—that State Department incident. He had a son named Fox."

"I wonder if it's any relation?"

Illya checked the passenger side. "There's a woman, too…also alive…also FBI. I don't think either one is going anywhere for some time."

"Then let's start checking out the rest of the facility. I'll call for the clean-up crew and join you in a minute."

Kuryakin nodded and slipped out. Solo chatted with the Albuquerque field office for a moment, then left the lab.

Lazerby scuttled out from underneath the car. He hoped he could get to the back entrance before the agents discovered him.

 

**project quantum leap**

**MAY 13, 1999**

**8:26 p.m.**

 

As Calavicci finished the last spoonful of dinner, Ziggy cleared her virtual throat. "Yeah, Ziggy?"

"I have good news and bad news for you, Admiral."

He rolled his eyes. "Just tell me."

"Very well. The good news is that the FBI agents and their car no longer observe us. The bad news is that they have been temporally displaced by two unconscious men and a primitive punch card reader posing as a computer."

"Have a couple of security men meet me topside in ten minutes. I want to take a look personally."

"Of course, Admiral."

 

**U.N.C.L.E. albuquerque**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**8:32 a.m.**

 

Solo and Kuryakin stood next to each other in front of the small communications console, conferring with New York. "You realize, gentlemen, that at face value your report sounds completely ludicrous," Waverly’s voice admonished.

"Yes, sir, we know," Solo agreed. "We have checked out the ID on both our guests, as well as the contents of their car. As far as we can tell, everything is legitimate. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully both exist, and are both very young children. Discrete checks reveal nothing out of the ordinary has happened to either child. Mulder's father is with the State Department; Scully's father is career Navy. It's conceivable that the children could grow up to join the FBI."

"And travel in time?"

Kuryakin said, "We know that Thrush have been working on time travel experiments, so it's not inconceivable."

" Have you make any sense of the recovered notes?"

"Not really. It's mostly in a shorthand unique to Lazerby. The little we've been able to piece together points to a massive reworking of Einsteinian principles. We’re working on it, though. I plan on returning to the lab complex later this morning.”

"I see." Waverly reached for his pipe. "And the current state of our guests?"

"Still unconscious," Napoleon said. "Although Doctor Franklin expects them to come out of it sometime today."

"Then I would suggest waiting for them to wake up. A debriefing is imperative at this point."

"Yes, sir. Channel ‘D’ out." Solo jerked his head toward the door. Kuryakin nodded once and followed his partner out.

 

**project quantum leap**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**9:37 a.m.**

 

Calavicci strolled into the control room, pleased at how well his orange and gold ensemble clashed with the soft neon blue glow of the room. A paunchy middle-aged man with a shock of bright red hair poured over printouts; an attractive brunette in her mid 30's futzed behind the recovered ancient computer, hooking a large cable into it. Between them, they represented the Project's—and therefore the country's, possibly the world's—expertise on computers and artificial intelligence. Well, at least until Sam returns, Calavicci corrected mentally. "Hey, you two, how's it going?"

"As well as can be expected, Admiral," the man reported.

"Meaning?"

"Ziggy doesn't want to interface with it."

"Gooshie—"

The man shrugged. "It's not up to me, Admiral. I can't _force_ Ziggy to interface."

"And why not?"

The woman spoke up. "We don't want Ziggy to have a hissy fit. Especially not with Sam between leaps."

"Sammy Jo, I do not have hissy fits," the A.I. said. "I sulk. There _is_ a difference."

Calavicci glanced up at the blue globe that held Ziggy's i/o components. "So what's the problem?"

"That…thing is so primitive. It would be like you reading Dick and Jane, Admiral. Far beneath you."

"I see. Have you been able to determine the identity of our two visitors?"

"Other than what their driver's licenses say, not really. The younger one, Weatherwax, has a physics degree from Cal Tech; no record of him exists after 1966. The other one, who knows? No real record of the name, no fingerprints, not much to go on, really. You may simply have to wait until when—and if—they regain consciousness and ask them directly."

"Uh huh."

"Y'know, Ziggs," Sammy Jo said suddenly, "if this computer ran the time scoop, it's not as primitive as you think. Don't you think you owe it to yourself to see how something so stupid could do something so smart?"

The A.I. sighed. "Well, if you're going to put it like that, I suppose I have no choice. Initiating serial communications translations…." Ziggy's interface flashed to itself.

"Good job, Sammy Jo," said Calavicci.

Sammy Jo smiled. "We have a woman-to-woman understanding."

Calavicci nodded, remembering a time when Ziggy was male and Sammy Jo didn't exist. Sometimes things did change for the better. "I'll be in the Waiting Room if you need me."

 

**u.n.c.l.e albuquerque  infirmary**

**10:01 a.m**.

 

Mulder knew he lay in some kind of hospital bed even before he had fully woken up. He lay on his back on a slightly inclined surface, covered with an itchy, stiff cotton sheet, a bright, greenish light shining above him. He let himself become aware of his body, checking for any sore spots or restraints. All he felt was tired—the groggy sort of tired from sleeping too long. The room was quiet other than a ventilation fan kicking in and someone else breathing. He opened his eyes.

Well, the fluorescent light fixture seemed human in origin, at least. Of course, that didn't mean all that much, considering who had been performing all those "alien" abductions. He sat up on an elbow. Nope, balance okay, nothing more than the usual just-awake snooziness slowing him down.

He looked around the room. Portable monitoring equipment sat in a corner, looking both unused and old-fashioned. The opposite corner had a doorway leading to a bathroom. To his left, Scully lay on her side, head resting on arm and eyes looking straight at him. She smiled sleepily. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. Any idea where we are?"

"No. You?"

"Not a clue. Last thing I remember was a blue glow enveloping us and the car." He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Can I pee first?"

"Oh, sure. I'm not going anywhere just yet. Not awake enough."

"Me, neither, but try to tell that to my bladder." He stumbled to the toilet, shutting the door behind him.

Another door opened. A well-dressed if ultra-conservative-looking dark-haired man about Scully's age stepped in. "Ah, Miss Scully, you're awake. Where's your companion?" Scully pointed toward the bathroom. "I'm not surprised. You've been out of it for twelve hours."

"Twelve hours? And you didn't see fit to put us on any monitors?"

"Our physician determined that it was a natural, albeit very deep, sleep."

"And 'our physician' is with…?"

"If you don't mind, Miss Scully, I'll save the introductions for your companion's return."

"Fair enough." She regarded him with a cool appraising stare. He carried himself like an agent of some kind—law enforcement, maybe, that small bulge under his suit coat was pretty telling. Yet he was being exceedingly polite if she and Mulder were in trouble. She sat up, rewrapping the sheet around her lower body.

The bathroom door opened and Mulder stepped out. "Well, we can't be in too much trouble, since you don't have a gun trained on us," he remarked.

"Why would you think you were in trouble, Mister Mulder?"

"Ooh, I don't know, observing some secret governmental time travel project, possibly being caught up in one of its effects…. I'm paranoid by nurture, so I tend to think the worst."

"You sound like my partner. In any case, my name is Napoleon Solo—"

Mulder snorted. "And I thought _my_ name was bad…!"

"—and I am with the U.N.C.L.E."

"U.N.C.L.E., huh? I wondered when I would run into you."

Scully looked at her partner. "I thought U.N.C.L.E. was some kind of philanthropic organization."

"That's their cover. They're really a secret multinational law enforcement organization."

Napoleon leaned against the door jamb, folding his arms across his chest. "You seem to know a lot about us."

"I was recruited by you people." Mulder settled on the foot of Scully's bed. "Back in '86, right when I was graduating from Oxford."

"What made you choose the FBI instead?"

"I thought I would have a better chance of finding out what happened to my sister if I stayed domestic."

"Ah."

Illya entered the room. "Napoleon, if you—ah. I see our guests are awake."

"Mister Kuryakin!" Mulder exclaimed. "I should have figured. The years certainly have been kind to you. If anything, you look much younger than you did when we last met." He noted Scully's confusion and explained, "Mister Kuryakin was the one who recruited me."

"Recruited you?" Illya parroted.

"Sure, you remember, 1986, Oxford," Napoleon said, giving a look that said to play along.

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

Solo turned his attention back to the FBI agents. "Listen, I'm sure you'd like to wake up a bit more, maybe shower and eat something. I'll have a tray sent down here—hope you don't mind cold cereal, it's between breakfast and lunch in the cafeteria. Once you're ready to start the day, then we'll worry about the debriefing. We'll be back, oh, say an hour and a half."

"Works for us," Scully said.

"See you then." The U.N.C.L.E. agents took their leave.

Scully looked pointedly at her partner. "Something's definitely not right here."

"No shit. When I met Kuryakin back at Oxford, he was approximately 50… which would make him approximately ready for retirement in 1999."

"Mulder, he was in his late 20's or early 30's."

"I have the feeling it's going to be some time before we can party 'cause it's 1999." Mulder sighed. "Why don't you take first shower? It'll give me more time to contemplate an outlandish theory."

 

"Why didn't you say anything?" Kuryakin asked as they wandered toward the cafeteria.

"Would you want to be told first thing in the morning that you were in a different year?"

"You have a point. Of course, there's also the point that by giving them the time to wake up, they will have their cover story in place by the time we confront them with it."

"That's what I like about you, Illya. You always see the worst in people."

 

**project quantum leap**

**waiting room**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**10:21 a.m.**

 

Crane paced the white-on-white room, glaring from time to time at his two cellmates. Sure, it didn't look like a cell…but any place where the door didn't open was a cell in his book. Weatherwax snoozed on a gurney in a corner; whoever the other guy was, he was much worse off, judging by the amount of equipment to which he was attached. Crane could feel his frustration build, and that wouldn't do at all. Not if he were to talk his way out of whatever mess he was in.

The door opened; Calavicci entered. He and Crane sized each other up. Something about Crane's eyes bothered the Admiral; he kept his tone neutral as he said, "I heard you were awake."

"What am I being charged with?"

"What makes you think you're being charged with anything?"

"I’m being kept in a room that I can't get out of."

"It's for your own safety."

"Try again. And why not start this time with an introduction?"

"You can call me 'Al,' Thompson."

"And you may call me ‘Mister Crane’." He straightened his posture, looming over the other man. "I am an important person and do not appreciate being held against my will."

Calavicci ignored the intimidation attempt. "What's the last thing you remember, Mr. Crane?"

"I was wrestling Waxie for control of my computer."

"And what was the date?"

"May 13, 1966. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You might want to sit down before you hear why."

Crane folded his arms across his chest. "You're trying my patience."

"Suit yourself," Calavicci shrugged. "It's May 14th—"

"So I slept a couple hours? This is supposed to be earth-shattering news?"

"—1999."

"Well, considering that was the year we were reaching into, I'm not surprised."

"You sound pretty blasé about the whole matter."

"Time travel is something I deal with every day. Not that I'd expect you to understand."

Calavicci raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I understand. I understand completely."

"Uh huh." Crane sighed. "If you'll just return my computer to me, I'll get out of your way."

"What about your companion?"

"Oh, Waxie? I suppose I need him still. All right, send me in some food and I'll wait for him to wake up. Then we'll both be out of your way."

"Doesn't work like that, Mister Crane. See, you've landed at a government installation, and we can't just let you go. Especially since we don't know who you really are."

"You know my name."

"I also know that your name was only in use from September 4, 1964 until the day you disappeared. And since you don't have any fingerprints to speak of, we have no idea who you really are. So you see why we can't let you go just yet." He pulled out a cigar from his coat pocket and lit up. "Enjoy your stay, Tommy baby."

As Al went through the doorway, Crane called, "Al?"

"Yeah?"

"What's that guy in for?" He pointed at the wired-up stranger.

"An experiment that went a little caca, that's all." The door slid shut behind him.

An experiment that went caca, huh? What kind of experiment could that be? If he—and Thrush, of course—were going to profit from this little visit to the future, he needed to know.

How he was going to get back to his own time never entered his mind.

 

**project quantum leap**

**conference room**

**11:03 a.m.**

 

Calavicci surveyed the faces in front of him—Gooshie and Sammy Jo, plus Project Psychiatrist Verbena Beeks and Doctor Donna Elesse, Sam's wife and overall head of the science end of the project since Sam had changed history enough. "Crane's one arrogant son of a bitch," he commented.

"I reviewed the tape of your conversation with him, Al," Beeks said, "and I was really impressed with the way you handled himself with him."

"There's no way I was going to let him get my goat, not since we still have no idea who he is."

The A.I. cleared its throat. "Actually, Admiral, I am getting some idea now as to his identity."

"Really? How?"

"I have finally managed to hack into U.N.C.L.E.'s computer systems."

Al whistled. "U.N.C.L.E.? That's serious."

"What did you find out, Ziggs?" Sammy Jo asked.

"Thompson Crane is—or was, technically—middle management in Thrush."

Calavicci visibly paled. The others exchanged puzzled looks. "What's Thrush?" Gooshie finally asked.

"Imagine the Mob with the power and ambition of Saddam Hussein."

"I'd rather not, thank you. I still would like to sleep at night."

Donna said, "We can't let Crane know of Quantum Leap's true purpose. If he were to find out, and somehow managed to gain access to it…."

"Yeah, but he also can't stay here the rest of his life. And we also can't send him back to where he belongs. Not unless we want to take the risk of him leaping about from life to life like Sam."

"We need to figure out what to do with him, then," Verbena said. "Both of them, really."

"Exactly. Let's meet back here at 1300 hours and discuss further." He stood, effectively dismissing them.

Donna lingered behind. "Al…what if Sam leaps into someone while our 'guests' are in the Waiting Room?"

"We're going to have to play that by ear, Donna. The Waiting Room's the best-secured place in the whole complex, next to the Control Room, Imaging Chamber, and Acceleration Chamber. We certainly don't want them in any of those places."

"Why not?"

"Oh, security of the project, integrity of the space-time continuum, little things like that."

"Well, if Ziggy kills the power to the Acceleration Chamber and disables the firing sequence—and monitors them constantly—what harm can they do there?"

"Errr…well, if we have to, I suppose it would do. But let's hope we don't have to."

 

**u.n.c.l.e. albuquerque**

**conference room**

**11:21 a.m.**

 

Solo and Kuryakin were already seated; Napoleon was sipping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee, while Illya paged through a ragged notebook. Mulder guided Scully to a seat, then plunked down next to her. "Gentlemen, we have a theory."

"Really?" asked Napoleon, amused at his breeziness.

"Well, two, actually. Which do you want to hear first?"

"Lady's first."

Scully's eyebrow raised, annoyed. "You're trying to make us believe that we've traveled backwards in time."

"Why should we want to do such a thing?" Illya wondered, intrigued.

"Any number of reasons—find out what we know, eliminate us, use us against our will in whatever nefarious plans you might come up with."

"Scully's been hanging with me too long—she's almost too paranoid sometimes." She glared at him; he smiled, enjoying her reaction. "Me, on the other hand, I'm open minded. I think we're really back in the mid 1960's."

Napoleon nodded, "1966, to be exact. How could you tell?"

"Mister Kuryakin's age regression, for one thing. And then those variety pack cereal boxes! I haven't seen packaging like that since I was small." Mulder shifted in his seat. "What I want to know is how it happened. Did the travel originate in our year or in yours?"

"Alleged travel," Scully corrected.

"Alleged travel," he amended amiably.

"Our year, definitely," Napoleon said. "Doctor Emil Lazerby created a machine that could scoop up items in the future—"

"—and replace them with items from the past?" Mulder suggested.

Illya looked up sharply. "Was that what you were investigating?"

"In a way."

"Mulder—"

The agent shrugged. "My partner wants conclusive proof that we are back in time before we say anything meaningful."

"Proof?" Solo repeated.

"Oh, take them outside, Napoleon. Show them around. That will be proof enough for them, I should think." Kuryakin suggested. "We will not be able to discuss how—and if—we can return them to their proper time until we finish figuring out Lazerby's notes. And, frankly, you three will simply be in the way until then."

"You wound me, my friend."

"I speak the truth, and you know it."

Mulder leaned over to his partner and whispered, "Sound familiar?"

Scully rolled her eyes.

Solo stood. "Well, if we're being kicked out, we might as well go now. Are you two ready to play tourist?"

"If you're ready to risk us tainting the past with our knowledge of the future," said Mulder.

"If you are from the future," countered Kuryakin.

"If we are indeed in the past," countered Scully.

Solo shrugged. "It's a mutual mistrust society. We go about town, I judge the authenticity of your reactions, you judge the authenticity of the era. Simple as that."

"Works for me," Mulder said. "Scully?"

"I guess."

 

**project quantum leap**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**12:10 p.m.**

 

Ziggy was amused—or as amused as an Artificial Intelligence with a Personality Matrix could feel. She had been observing the Waiting Room interlopers for millions of nanoseconds now and they got funnier and funnier. First of all, they skittered around Doctor Beckett's body aura like rats avoiding a trap. Second, Crane in particular was keen on escaping, and he was badgering Weatherwax no end to find a way out. She wondered what would happen if she played with their heads a bit—not enough to endanger the Project security, of course, but enough to give them the illusion of free will. Humans could be soooo silly sometimes….

"Come on, Waxie."

"Honestly, Mister Crane, it's all beyond me."

"It will be that, literally, if you don't get us out of here."

The lab assistant glared at the Thrush. "You don’t have anything to make that threat stick this time."

"Oh, don't I?" Crane smiled. "You don't know what I have up my pants leg."

Weatherwax decided not to call the bluff. "Still, I don’t see the way out. I see the door, and the doorjamb, but I don't see any way to access the door mechanism. If you're armed, why don't you just shoot your way out?"

"Not my style. Besides, I want to conserve bullets." Crane hopped up on the examining table. "Especially if that guy's lying about this being the future." He glanced again at the inert, wired-up form that shared their space. "Know anything about medical equipment, Waxie?"

"Not really."

"Then you couldn't tell if all those gadgets were contemporary or not."

"Sorry. What’s _he_ doing here, anyway?"

"Something about a failed experiment. I want to know what that experiment is. I also want to know where my computer is and how we can get back to Lazerby's lab. But to do any of that, we have to get out of this room. And that's where you're supposed to come in, Waxie."

Weatherwax shrugged. "Sorry, Mister Crane, but if I can't access the door controls, how can I figure out how to open it? If only some access hatch was visible…."

A soft metallic scraping accompanied an unnoticeable 9" x 9" panel door sliding up. Inside the access hatch, metal and wire components gleamed invitingly.

"Someone likes you upstairs, Waxie."

"I guess so." Weatherwax leaned into the panel opening for a better look.

 

**central avenue**

**albuquerque**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**12:19 p.m**

 

Solo glanced at the FBI agents in the back seat as he maneuvered the U.N.C.L.E. Chrysler through the midday traffic. If Fox Mulder were a dog, he would be hanging his head out the window, ears flapping and tongue hanging out of his mouth. As it was, he had his face plastered against the window, staring at the passing scenery in awe. He spotted a route sign and all but squealed in his glee. “Look, Scully! We’re on Route 66!”

“So?”

“You know, ‘get your kicks on Route 66’. Classic song, great tv show.”

“You’ve had way too much Nick at Nite in your lifetime.”

“Have not.”

“Still,” she continued, “I should be grateful you’re not wanting to be pointed in the direction of Albuquerue….”

“Oooh, Scully, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Partridge Family fan.”

She declined to answer, going back to studying the passing scenery. Block after block passed, with the cars, the buildings, the signage all seeming straight out of an old movie. The men almost all had on suits or uniforms (and jeans and Western shirts counted as a uniform); the women wore dresses or skirts. They all looked like they belonged on _Betwitched_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ instead of the street.

Scully felt really out of place in her well-tailored black pantsuit and ecru silk t-shirt. She also felt a long ways from home, and sunk deeper into her corner of the back seat, looking very small and very lost.

As far as Solo was concerned, they were both indeed from the future—and, judging from Scully’s body language, they both now knew they were in the past. "Ready to head back?" he asked.

"No," said Mulder.

"Yes," countered Scully.

Mulder looked at his partner, noting her position. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

He sighed. "We might as well head back, Mr. Solo. I think we both need some time to let things sink in."

"Okay." Solo signaled a right turn.

"Mister Solo," Scully started.

"Napoleon."

"Napoleon, do you think your partner would let me help figure out Lazerby's notes? I majored in physics in college, and—"

"—and rewrote Einstein for her senior thesis," Mulder added helpfully.

"Well, I don't see why not, Dana. Not all that many quantum physicists attached to the U.N.C.L.E. How about you, Fox?"

"Mulder. And I'm a psychologist. The most I know about time travel comes from t.v. But since we're both momentarily useless, we might as well hang together. We can discuss what to do if we have to return to the 90's the hard way—one day at a time."

"Ah—sure." Napoleon turned again, heading back to the state highway.

 

**PROJECT QUANTUM LEAP**

**control room**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**1:23 P.M.**

 

Sammy Jo absent-mindedly chewed on the end of a gel pen as she studied a printout from the ancient computer. Across the table from her, Gooshie studied his own copy. "Anything?" he asked.

"It's all kind of mud— wait a minute!" She circled several lines of code and passed her printout to the programmer. "See?"

He looked at the code, sucking on his lower lip in thought. "I've seen this before, kind of," he admitted finally.

"Ziggy's observation protocol."

"But that would mean that they were using some form of the string theory."

"Right."

"But if this computer's from the mid-1960's…."

"…someone would have had to come up with the theory before Doctor Beckett did." Sammy Jo looked toward Ziggy's visual sensors. "Ziggs, could you get Al to bring us that Weatherwax guy? We have some serious questions to ask."

"He'll have a cow, Sammy Jo," the A.I. promptly replied.

"And your point is…?"

"May I blame you?"

"Of course."

"Very well. Conferring with the Admiral now…he's not happy…. Definitely not happy."

"But will he do it?"

"Because you asked. I'm sure you'll get an earful from him."

Sammy Jo waved her hand dismissively. "I'm not afraid of his bluster." She retrieved her copy of the printout back from Gooshie and started making notes on it.

 

Calavicci stomped down the hallway to the Waiting Room. "She'd better have a good reason, Ziggy. I hate letting people out of there. "

"Doctor Fuller assures me that she wouldn't have asked if it didn't have a direct impact on the Project, Admiral."

"It'd better." He paused at the Waiting Room door. "Open her up, Ziggy."

"Admiral…you should be aware that our guests have been trying to escape."

"What?!"

"Oh, they haven't gotten very far in their attempt, Admiral. I have been monitoring them the entire time."

Calavicci sighed, exasperated. "Get a pair of marines down here before opening the door, then." He pulled out a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit up, leaning against the wall. "And make it fast, huh?"

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**2:30 p.m.**

 

Solo brought the misplaced agents to the door of the time scoop room. "Through here, Dana. And don't mind his gruff exterior. Everyone has to prove himself—or herself—more than just competent before he warms up to you."

"I've been proving myself since the first day of med school, Napoleon. I'm used to it. But before you take my partner off, could I have a moment with him alone?"

"Ah…sure. I'll grab us something to drink, then be back." He looked at Mulder. "What do you want?"

"I suppose iced tea is out of the question."

"Coffee, water, soft drinks."

"Coke, then."

"Sure." Napoleon strode down the hall.

Scully waited until he was out of sight before starting. "We can't change anything."

"I know."

"Not even Samantha."

"You sure?"

"Think about it. She was taken after everyone else. If she hadn't gone, the invasion would have happened in 1973."

"If you want to believe Cancer Man."

"You certainly seem willing to."

"I know, I know." Mulder sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "So I'm thinking you better ride herd on me—and keep me drugged the entire month of November 1973, if need be."

"If we can't get back." She caught his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "And I think we can. Or at least I'm willing to believe we can, until I have proof otherwise."

"Oh, and that's a scientific line of reasoning, Ms. Logic?"

Scully shrugged. "Scientists take a lot on faith. How else can we come up with theories?"

Mulder smiled. "Of course, if we don't return for a few months, it wouldn't be a bad thing."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow at him, curious.

"Beatles tour for the last time in August, _Star Trek_ premieres on September 8, _The Monkees_ premieres on September 12, and _Mission: Impossible_ premieres on September 17. I wouldn't mind seeing all four."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Napoleon returned, handing Mulder his pop. "Let's go. There’s a conference room free."

"Okay." Mulder glanced at his partner meaningfully. "Go put your undergrad degree to work."

 

**project quantum leap**

**waiting room**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**2:35 p.m**.

 

The access panel to the door snapped shut a moment before the door itself opened. Al breezed in, his escort taking up positions on either side of the door. "Weatherwax, welcome to the land of the living. Need to talk to you."

"Err...sure, sir." The lab assistant visibly shook.

"Come this way." Al gestured toward the door.

Weatherwax started out; Crane grabbed his arm and yanked him back, nearly pulling him off his feet. "We go as a set," Crane stated, glaring at the admiral.

"Do you know anything about computer programming?"

"I know I paid good money for that computer. If you're going to tamper with it, I must be there."

“Look, this is bigger than you realise.”

Crane snorted. “Really? Then why do you need a 1960’s programmer in 1999?”

“Because he has knowledge of both the computer and the time travel project. And if we’re going to interface your project with ours—“

“Oh, so this is a governmental _time travel_ project, then. As an American citizen—not to mention the techincal owner of that computer out there—I demand—no, I _deserve—“_

"You deserve a lot of things, buddy, but what you're getting is some time alone." He took Weatherwax by the upper arm and yanked him out of the room. The marines made sure that Crane stayed in place until the door shut behind them.

Crane glared at the door a moment, then sighed and looked around. Well, with Weatherwax gone, he would have to think of some other way of getting out, especially if he were within the bowels of a time travel project. He wandered toward his roommate and squatted in front of him, studying the unconscious figure. Sure, the monitors beeped and the chest rose and fell, but Crane had the distinct impression that no one was really there. Even with sleeping people, with drugged and badly injured people, he still had the sense that someone was there. But this guy…it was like he was watching a t.v. show or something. Almost all smoke and mirrors. Crane reached out, feeling for a pulse. Although some small part of his mind insisted that he was touching thin air, he nevertheless felt blood moving within the veins of the wrist.

The guy breathed, he had a pulse, he would do as a hostage.

 

"I-I-I'm sorry, Miss. I don't really know anything about the programming aspect." Weatherwax looked ready to cry, or faint, or freak. "I just wire things to Doctor Lazerby's specs."

"It's okay, Martin. I can call you that, right?"

Weatherwax nodded.

"You can call me Sammy Jo." She noted Calavicci rolling his eyes and shot him a warning glance. "Why don't you sit down? I'm not going to bite."

Weatherwax carefully pulled the a chair out from the conference table and slid into it. Calavicci settled next to him, trying not to crowd his personal space. The Marines remained as bookends at the doorway. Weatherwax sat straight up with his hands on his lap, hoping he wouldn't do anything he shouldn't.

Sammy Jo smiled, aware of how uncomfortable Weatherwax was feeling. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? A Coke?"

"Tab, if you have it."

"Err…sure. Gooshie, could you get us a couple of Tabs?"

"Huh?" The red-headed programmer snapped out of his inner monologue. "Tabs? What—"

She leaned over to whisper in his ear. "A couple Diet Cokes in glasses."

"Sure, Sammy Jo, sure." Gooshie hurried out of the room.

"Now, Martin, who is Doctor Lazerby?" Sammy Jo asked kindly.

"The brain behind the project. He's the one who came up with the theory in the first place."

"Which theory is that?"

"The string theory, of course. It's how we're able to reach into the future—er, the present?—and grab things. Doctor Lazerby thought of it all."

"When did you last see Doctor Lazerby?" Calavicci asked, trying not to sound gruff.

"Right before we arrived her. Mister Crane and I were fighting over the computer's position. Doctor Lazerby was still wired into the machine, still connected to the future."

Ziggy chimed. "Positive identification, Admiral. Doctor Emil Lazerby, quantum physicist and classmate of Doctor Sebastian LoNigro."

Al whistled. "That would explain a lot."

Sammy Jo shook her head. "No, it wouldn't."

"Sam came up with the theory with LoNigro's help."

"Yeah, in 1973. Lazerby was operating in 1966."

"Then something weird's going on." Calavicci reached for another cigar. "Ziggy, do we have anything else on Lazerby?"

"Disappeared after 1966— technically, at least. Checking U.N.C.L.E. records… still nothing. I have been unable to locate anything remotely related to a Thrush computer to tap into. No death record anywhere."

"Then maybe he's still alive."

"Yeah, but how do we find him?" Sammy Jo wondered.

"I will keep checking records," Ziggy commented.

Weatherwax looked sheepish for speaking. "Er, does this mean I have to go back into that room with Mister Crane?"

"Why?" Calavicci asked. "Does he scare you?"

"Yes."

"You don't have to go," Sammy Jo said. "You can wait in here, if you like. I'm sure our Marine friends will be glad to keep you company. And Gooshie will be along in a moment with your soda. You don't have to deal with Mister Crane again if you don't want to."

"Thank you." Weatherwax visibly relaxed.

"Sammy Jo, can I talk to you a moment?" Calavicci gestured her out of the room with a wave of his cigar. He lit up once they were both in the hallway. "You sure you want to leave him here by himself?"

"He's not going to cause any problems, Al. You can tell that just by looking at him. It's Crane we're going to have to worry about."

"Don't I know it."

"And maybe separating Crane from his whipping boy for awhile will make him show his true colors."

Calavicci grinned, appreciating her deviousness. "You should have been a psychologist."

"I thought about it. But there was far less money and far many more hours in physics."

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**may 14, 1966**

**2:37 p.m.**

 

Kuryakin had his head stuck up the wiring, Lazerby’s notes in one hand and retractable probe in the other. He acknowledged Scully’s entrance with a grunt. “I take it that since you’re here alone that Napoleon’s satisfied you are indeed from the future.”

“And I am satisfied that I am indeed in the past.”

“Good.” He went back to his work. When she said nothing further for several moments, he sighed loudly and pulled out from the time scoop’s innards. He saw her looking through more of Lazerby’s notes. “I wasn’t aware that the FBI recruited physicists.”

“And U.N.C.L.E. does?”

“It’s one of my many skills.” He took the papers out of Scully’s hands. “I would suggest that you rejoin our partners.”

“And I would suggest that you let me help.” She snatched the papers back, walking out of his easy reach as she skimmed them.

He watched her, an eyebrow raised, as she settled in a chair to study the notes. “You don’t intimidate easily, do you?”

“Was that what you were trying to do?” Her lips quirked in amusement. “Do you not like working with women?”

“Your sex is irrelevent.”

“So you’re one of those people who think one mind is better than two.”

“Usually it is, if the one mind is mine.”

“And you’re not the least bit egotistical.”

He shugged. “I am pratical.”

“Of course you are. But it’s the rest of my life that’s involved here. Mine and Mulder’s. I have the knowledge and interest to figure out how this machine works and how to reactivate it. I may be small, Mister Kuryakin, but you’ll find me immovable when it comes to this.”

Illya accepted her with a nod. “See what kind of operating theory you can garner from those notes. I will resume my examination of the wiring.” He slid back inside the scoop.

 

**lazerby’s laboratory complex**

**conference room**

**2:37 p.m.**

 

Solo leaned back in his desk chair. "So, Mulder, what if we can't get you and your partner back to 1999, what do you want to do?"

Mulder shrugged. "It really depends on what you want to do with us, doesn't it? Yeah, it would be nice if we could go off to new lives some place, but I don't think you'd trust us enough to do that."

"What makes you say that?"

"What if you found yourself back in 1933? Wouldn't you be sorely tempted to change things? Wouldn't you want to see if you could do something about Hitler? Or Toho? Or even your sister disappearing?"

"Tempted, sure, but also worried I would screw things up worse by interfering."

"Could you trust yourself not to change things? No matter what?"

Napoleon considered it. "I don't know," he replied finally.

"Me, neither." Mulder smiled self-depreciatingly. "Frankly, I'm going to need to be part of U.N.C.L.E. I'm going to need to do something to help save the world, and you're going to need to keep an eye on me to make sure I don't change anything important."

"What about Dana?"

"Same thing—as far as I know. You'd have to ask her, of course."

"Of course." Solo stretched. "We could find a place for both of you within our organization."

"Somewhere in, say, Australia? Singapore? Hong Kong, even. Some place that's a day or so away from the States. Just in case either of us get tempted."

"We could arrange it. If we have to. I'm hoping we don't have to. I'm more concerned what we're going to do to kill time until our partners figure out what to do."

"Do you think that hanging out in the lab will annoy them enough to work faster?"

"Unless Illya kills us first."

"Unless Scully beats him to it." They exchanged mock-worried looks. "Let's go for it!" said Mulder.

 

**central park**

**new york city**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**5:12 p.m. edt**

 

The old man waited on the designated bench, looking anxiously up the path. Despite the relative warmth of the day, he had on a heavy wool coat and scarf. His gnarled hands gripped his cane tightly, more from anxiety than a need to hang onto it.

He spotted a slight figure ambling down the path. As the figure neared, the old man took a deep breath. Approximate age was right, matched the physical description those three geeks had given him…he only hoped that he wasn't about to fall into a trap.

The figure turned out to be an older man of indeterminate age with neatly trimmed, longish white-blonde hair. Grey wireframed glasses hid icy blue eyes. He wore a well-tailored dark grey suit and a black turtleneck. Seating himself on the free end of the bench, he remarked casually, "Hooray, hooray."

"The merry month of May," the old man countered.

Satisfied, he studied the old man. "Emil Lazerby disappeared in 1966."

"Formally, Mister Kuryakin. I hid under that strange car when I heard you and your partner barging into my laboratory. I didn't want to get caught."

"Then why surface now? And why contact me?"

"My time scoop computer should have arrived today."

"And?"

"You're the only one I could think of who would believe me about it— and who would have some idea as to what it could do."

"What makes you think that?"

"I witnessed you analysing my lab all those years ago."

Kuryakin readjusted his glasses. "You expect me to believe that you're Lazerby."

"Yes, actually, I do. Ask me anything about my notes, the lab."

"Do you know who you grabbed out of 1999?"

"A couple in a car." Lazerby paused, trying to remember. "He called her 'Scully.' Yeah, that's right, I remembered because of the baseball announcer having the same name."

"Very well. I'll accept that you're Emil Lazerby. Tell me, Doctor Lazerby, what do you want to do?"

"That's where I'm needing your help, Mister Kuryakin. Once we arrive in Stallion's Gate, I will need your...practicality."

"Very well. When do we leave?"

"Eight o'clock flight out of LaGuardia."

Illya frowned. "Not much time to prepare."

"It was the last flight of the day out there." He pulled out an airplane ticket from an inner coat pocket. "Shall I see you there?"

"Yes." With the barest of nods, Illya left.

 

**lazerby’s laboratorY**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**3:43 p.m.**

 

Kuryakin and Scully looked over several stacks of notes. "Wiring diagrams?" the redhead ventured. "Only without the pictures."

"Lazerby must have one of those minds where the verbal works better than the visual."

"Then we're going to have to start drawing. Are you more visual or verbal?"

"Visual. Curse of an eidetic memory."

"You describe and I'll draw. Do we have anything big to draw on?"

"Not nearby." He looked around the room for someone to go fetch and spotted Napoleon and Mulder in the doorway, both trying very hard not to be seen. He called them over with a jerk of his head. "Bored already?"

"Just wanting to see if we can lend a hand," Solo replied.

"Good. Make yourself useful and round up an easel, a large pad of paper, and several markers. Oh, and a roll of masking tape."

"Be right back. Coming, Mulder?"

"Nyah, I'll stay here and annoy someone else for awhile."

"Suit yourself." Napoleon went off on his errand.

Scully gave her partner an annoyed glare, which made him grin. "Aw, come on, Scully, I can't be _that_ bad."

"When you're bored and I'm trying to work?"

Illya said, "Go sit in that corner, if you're staying. And bring over an extra stool for Napoleon to sit on."

"Yes, sir." Mulder gave him a loose salute and dragged over two stools to an unoccupied corner. "You want me to sit with my face to the wall, too?"

"If it would keep you quiet…." Scully agreed.

Mulder made a face and plopped down defiantly facing forward.

"Partners," murmured Kuryakin.

"Can't live with them, can't work with anyone else," Scully agreed.

 

**project quantum leap**

**waitng room**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**3: 48 p.m.**

 

Crane hit the spot he knew held the access panel in frustration. He hadn't been able to regain access to the door controls, and Weatherwax had shown no sign of returning. He had no choice but to start using deadly force. He so hated it; left too big a mess to cover up afterwards. _They_ had forced his hand, though, and he would be sure to let them know it was all _their_ fault. He reached down and pulled his small backup handgun out of its ankle holster. He then gently placed the barrel of the gun in the mouth of the unconscious man and yelled, "Hey! I have a hostage here! It's time to talk!"

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**3:49 p.m.**

 

Mulder chewed the inside of his lip, wishing he had some sunflower seeds to pass the time. While he never minded watching Scully at work, he minded that someone else was working beside her. He always preferred to keep her all for himself. It made everything so much _easier._

It didn't help any that they ignored his few attempts to interject himself into the conversation. He was getting really bored really fast, which meant that he would soon be causing a lot of trouble—

—but then his vision went all blue again and he passed out.

 

**project quantum leap**

**waiting room**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**3:49 p.m.**

Calavicci skidded into the room, a Marine escort with weapons drawn on his tail. "Crane—"

"I knew I would get your attention by doing this. Now, I don't know who this person is, but he's obviously important to you."

The admiral nodded, trying not to smirk. One part of his mind—the part that, through the implant, allowed him to see what the face behind Sam's aura really looked like—saw Crane putting his gun into the middle of nothing. "What do you want?"

"To know what's going on here would be a start."

"Sure, Crane, sure. Just put the gun down."

Crane shook his head. "I don't think so. You'll tell me right here, right now, and then I'll decide whether to let Mr. Potato Head here go."

"Uh…." Calavicci's eyebrow twitched, the only outward sign to what he was witnessing. The empty aura flashed blue and slowly rearranged itself into a new set of features.

 

The first thing Mulder noticed was a gun barrel stuck into his mouth. Then a couple of machines started beeping loudly, in perfect counterpoint to how fast his heart was pounding. His eyes snapped open. The man holding the gun in his mouth startled slightly, but obligingly shifted gun barrel from mouth to right temple. "Ah, the sleeper awakes. Now you can actually beg for your life before I sacrifice you for my greater good."

"You're in charge here," Mulder replied, his hostage negotiation training kicking in automatically.

"Yes, I am. At least someone here's acknowledging that fact." Crane looked back at the admiral. "Well, Al?"

Calavicci grimaced. The stakes had just gone higher.


	3. Do you think it would mess up the space-time continuum further if you were to tell me what this string theory is?

**LAZERBY’S laboratory**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**3:49 P.m.**

 

 

As Sam Beckett's vision cleared, he noted the two agents discussing the notes. Keeping quiet for the moment, he listened to their talk in the hopes of getting some clue as to where and who he was this time.

"String theory," Illya muttered to himself. "Never heard of it."

"I'm not sure it's been invented yet," Scully said. "In fact, I'm not even sure it's well known in my era."

"But you have heard of it."

"Only because a Nobel prize winner included it in a personal letter to me."

 _Yes, but who are you? And when did I write you the letter?_ Sam wondered.

"And what makes you think it hasn't been invented yet? Surely if a Nobel Prize Winner in the, what, mid 1980's, had the theory then, why wouldn't he be working on it in the present day?"

"Well, because he's a teenager on a farm some place in the Midwest right now."

_So we're in the 1960's? But why would the woman know about my theory and my Nobel Prize if this is the '60's?_

"Ah." Illya took off his reading glasses for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Do you think it would mess up the space-time continuum further if you were to tell me what this string theory is?"

_Further? As in "it's already messed up"? Ohhhhhh boy!_

 

Scully closed her eyes a moment, trying to remember. "It's been so long…. Imagine your life like a … plate of spaghetti?" She shook her head. "That's definitely not right."

"Must have something to do with string, wouldn't you say?" Kuryakin suggested. He put his glasses back on, then glanced at whom he thought was Mulder. "I don't suppose _you_ have any idea, do you?"

"Imagine your life is a piece of string,” Sam replied. “One end of the string represents your birth, the other, your death. If you tie the ends together, your life becomes a loop. Ball the loop, and the days of your life touch each other out of sequence. Therefore, if you leap from one point on the string to another, you move backward or forward in time within your own lifetime.”

Scully's eyes narrowed. "How did you know that?"

Sam shrugged, trying to keep his face neutral. "I read a lot."

Illya paged through the translated notes. "That theory seems to be the one that Doctor Lazerby was operating under. Look—" He pointed out a relevant paragraph to Scully. She read it to herself and nodded, agreeing.

"Can I see?" Sam asked.

Scully rolled her eyes. "Mulder, we don't have time to translate it into laymen's terms. Not if we want to get back to our own time."

"Try me."

"Five minutes. Here." She held the papers out to him; Sam took them back to his designated corner and started reading.

Solo came back into the room with the requested supplies. "Here you go." He passed off the paper to Illya, the markers to Scully, and set up the easel. Only then did he notice "Mulder" in the corner. "What's with him?"

"Playing physicist," Kuryakin said.

"Annoying us," Scully corrected.

"Just like you're about to, my friend," Kuryakin finished.

"I get the hint. Come on, Mulder." Solo took the papers from Sam and returned them to his partner. "We're definitely not wanted here."

"But I can help!"

"Mulder…." Scully noted Sam's dejected expression and softened her tone. "You said yourself that the only thing you know about time travel comes from t.v. I know you want to help, but you simply don't have the scientific background for it."

"Let's go to the break room," Solo suggested. "I can certainly stand to catch up on my reading, and I bet you'd like to do some historical research by reading today's paper _._ "

"…sure." Shooting Scully a last, plaintive look, he followed the dapper agent out.

She stared after him a moment, finally shaking her head as if shaking off an unwanted thought.

"Something wrong?"

"He usually doesn't agree that easily. And he never pretends to understand scientific things that he really doesn't. Something's not right."

"Perhaps the enormity of the situation has finally sunk in."

"Perhaps." She grabbed a marker. "Start reading."

 

The break room had several vending machines, tables, periodicals, and overflowing ashtrays. Sam picked up a copy of the day’s _Albuquerque Journal_ and pretended to read while he thought things through. From what he saw of the notes, _someone_ had come up with the String Theory nearly a decade before he had…unless, of course, he had leaped so many times and changed so many things that he had told the theory to someone who actually could develop it before Sam could…. He couldn’t recall talking about the theory with anyone while leaping, but that didn’t mean anything. His swiss-cheesed memory barely recalled his own name sometimes.

He would really like to return to the lab, and see if he could dredge enough out of his memory to actually help. Of course, having Al appear and tell him exactly what the hell was going on would be even better. He knew it was 1966—and he suspected that whomever he had leaped into (and that woman in the lab) didn’t belong in that particular year—at least not as adults.

Maybe that’s why he had leaped there. Maybe he was supposed to help straighten out whatever went wrong in the continuum. And maybe that’s why Al hadn’t shown up yet—maybe he couldn’t. Maybe the continuum was already so screwed up that—

He had to get back into the lab. He put the paper down and started to rise. The dark-haired man who had accompanied him glanced over the magazine he was reading and shook his head, giving him a sympathetic smile. Sam sighed and sat back down, resting chin in hand and making a big show of reviewing the most current _Sports Illustrated._

He would have to be sneaky to get back into the lab. In the meantime, though, he would wonder how something based on his theory could screw up the entire space/time continuum, where Al could be, and…why both the dark-haired man in the lounge with him and the slight blond in the lab both seemed vaguely familiar.

 

Solo watched “Mulder” slide back into his chair, dejected. Something was definitely off with the man. He seemed subdued, vulnerable, and really, really lost. Napoleon didn’t think anything had happened, at least not externally, while he had been off rounding up supplies. Maybe Mulder had finally realised the seriousness of the situation. But that didn’t seem to fit into his character. Like Solo, Mulder seemed to be the kind of person who would be joking about the Apocalypse, if it would help him cope with it. Yet now…it was like he was a completely different person.

Which all proved to Solo that he was reading too much into surface behavior—again.

 

**Project quantum leap**

**MAY 14 1999**

**4:12 P.M.**

Mulder watched the guy with the gun and the guy with the loud suit stare at each other, daring the other to make the first move. “I don’t suppose anyone wants to tell me what’s going on here? Or where I am? Or why I have a whole buncha pages missing from my photographic memory album?”

“Nice try.” Crane shook his head. “I’m not falling for it.”

“Falling for what?”

“Oh, you know, trying to confuse me by having you suddenly come to life, full of questions and aiming to distract me from my goal.”

“Which is--?” Calavicci prompted.

“I want access to your time travel apparatus.”

“Oh really?” The admiral folded his arms across his chest. “Why?”

“You _must_ be a force for good.”

“And I thought it was that bad people liked to gloat.”

“Hey, guys?” Mulder interjected. “I _still_ don’t have a clue here, and if I’m going to be sacrificed in some megalomaniac’s plot, I’d like to know why.”

This made Crane pause. “Why what? Why you’re the sacrifice or why I need a sacrifice?”

He rolled his eyes. “Just make your demands; I have an appointment to keep back in the past. Unless it’s the future.”

“Depends on what year you think it is.” Calavicci commented.

“Well, I was in 1999, then I was in 1966, and now I don’t know.”

The admiral’s pocket squawked. “Do you mind?”

“Mind? Mind what?”

“I gotta answer my pocket.”

“Whatever it is, pull it out slowly. Once wrong move and…” Crane cocked the gun hammer.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Calavicci eased his handlink out of his clothing. “See? Just a communications box, nothing more.”

“Gee,” quipped Mulder, “Is that a PalmPilot in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Crane leaned down to Mulder’s ear. “Would you like to be shot just because you’re annoying me?”

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to make things easier for you, that’s all.”

Crane grunted disbelief, then looked over at the admiral. “Well? Your troops surrounded the building yet?”

“Why should we do that?”

“Yeah,” added Mulder. “We don’t even know what your demands are yet. How can we storm you without paying lip service to them?”

“One more smarty-pants remark….” Crane paused to make sure the message sank in. “All right, Al, here’s what I want. Laughing Boy and I will be granted clear passage to your time travel machinery. You will provide us with at least a half dozen of your most powerful computers. You will then transport Laughing Boy, myself, and said computers back to 1966. You will then get ready for a new world order, because once I get back to the past, the future’s going to look _quite_ different.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh—and get someone else to negotiate, huh? It’s bad enough I have to put up with Laughing Boy. I should at least have a negotiator that’s nice to look at. Don’t you have any girls around here?”

Calavicci’s eyes narrowed. The handlink squealed; he checked the readout. “Sammy Jo has volunteered to take my place. She’ll meet you in the Acceleration Chamber. If you’ll follow the nice Marines, they’ll escort you and Mulder there.”

“How do you know my name?”

The admiral waved the handlink at him, then said, “I’m so outta here.” He all but stomped out.

Crane jerked the leads off of Mulder, then yanked him to his feet. “Okay, nice Marines, lead on.”

 

**Laguardia airport**

**may 14, 1999**

**6:37 P.m. edt**

 

Kuryakin had already checked in at the gate and had his nose in the latest Grisham novel, snorting every so often at the verbage. He nodded once as Lazerby eased into the seat next to him. “You still haven’t told me why you need my services in particular.”

“As I said, you supervised the disassembly of my equipment all those years ago.”

“And?”

“What do you remember of the events surrounding the reactivation of my time scoop?”

“Reactivation?”

“Surely you recall the reactivation? You worked with those people from the future.”

“The FBI agents.”

“Yes.”

“I still don’t remember any reactivation.”

“Then what do you remember?”

Kuryakin closed his eyes, shutting out as much extra stimuli as possible. “I remember Mulder coming back into the lab, insisting that he could help us get the time scoop working. Then… then…I was getting off the plane here in New York.”

“There’s a hole in your mind, Mr. Kuryakin.”

He met the scientist’s eyes. “Apparently so. And as long as you don’t tell me that I was examined by the Grey Council and found to have a Mimbari soul, we’ll get along fine.”

“Good.”

“But don’t interrupt my reading again, hmm?”

“Of course not.” Lazerby pulled out a book of his own and settled in for the wait.

 

**lazerby’s laboratory complex**

**break room**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**4:37 p.m.**

 

Sam nearly jumped when he heard the familiar swoosh of the Observation Chamber door open. He acknowledged Al’s arrival with a relieved grin before tossing the _Sports Illustrated_ on the table and standing. “Say…which way is the little spys’ room?”

“Two doors down on the left.”

“Thanks.” Sam beat a hasty retreat. Fortunately, the washroom was a private one, so he locked the door, ran the water, and waited for his friend to walk through the wall. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry, Sam, there’s some weird shit going down in the Waiting Room and I was delayed.”

“Does it have anything to do with the problems in the space-time continuum here?”

“Oh, probably. Anyway, your name is Fox Mulder, and you’re an FBI agent in 1999—only you and your partner Dana Scully got caught in the backlash of some time travel experiment and ended up in 1966.”

“What am I here to do?”

Al shrugged. “As far as Ziggy can tell, you’re here to get the experiment running again and get Mulder and Scully back to 1999.”

“I could have figured out that much on my own.”

“Sorry, Sam. Ziggy’s having problems accessing information. The U.N.C.L.E. computer isn’t exactly forthcoming in its information, and, well, Mulder’s basically from our present. He and Scully were spying on the Project border when they got transported.”

“Oh, great.” Sam sighed. “So we’re basically faking it.”

“Er…yeah.”

“And how am I supposed to be able to help? Scully has made it quite clear that I don’t have a clue about time travel, physics, or anything else remotely related to science. If she wasn’t so small, she would have thrown me bodily out of the room.”

“Use some of that charm of yours, Sam.” Al checked the handlink, pressed a button, and opened the Imaging Chamber door. “I gotta get back to the Project. As soon as Ziggy figures anything else out, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” Sam said glumly. As Al started through the door, he added, “Hey…is everything okay back in the Waiting Room?”

“Now it is. The Acceleration Chamber, now, well let’s just say it’s a good thing Mulder’s a G-Man, because he can deal with being a hostage.”

“A hostage?!”

“Yeah.”

“But if Mulder’s not in the Waiting Room, I won’t be able to leap out!”

“Yeah, well, sorry, kiddo, but if I didn’t let him be moved to the Acceleration Chamber, he would have been shot, and you would be stuck as Mulder for the rest of your life. Look at it as the lesser of two evils.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Al disappeared with an apologetic shrug. Sam shook his head in frustration, washed his face with cold water, and gave his reflection a sickly, encouraging grin. Mulder’s face in the mirror returned the grin.

 

The computer blinked once...twice…then as rapidly as popcorn. Illya allowed a hope to seep into his expression; Scully caught herself holding her breath, and released it in a huff. He heard her; catching her glance, he cocked an eyebrow in sympathy.

The computer blinked several more times…and ejected the stack of punch cards. The holy rectangles spewed across the lab like leaves in a breeze. “Now I know why the hard drive was invented,” Scully commented.

“We must be missing some cards,” Kuryakin concluded.

“Can we get a printout at least? Maybe we can figure out what’s missing if we had hard copy.”

“I’ll see if we can get a computer typewriter in here.”

“A keyboard? We need a printer, not a keyboard.”

“Yes, that’s what the typewriter is for.”

“Uh huh.”

“Obviously technology will progress in leaps and bounds in the next thirty years.” Kuryakin sighed. “I’ll see if I can find one. Would you mind picking up the cards?”

“No, of course not.” Scully reached for the nearest pile as Illya left the room. She gathered cards for several minutes, trying to put them all facing one way and in some sort of pseudo-numerical order. The lab door opened; she looked up. “Mulder.”

“Scully,” Sam begged, “you have to let me help.”

“You want to pick the cards up? Sure.” She stood, handed him the stack, and leaned against a counter, folding her arms across her chest.

Sam resumed the pick-up job. “I meant helping you get the time scoop working.”

“We’ve been through this before. You’re a psychologist, not a physicist.”

“Yeah, but we were investigating Project Quantum Leap when we were taken, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Don’t you think I did my research on the place?”

“You said that you needed an Alpha Clearance just to read the appropriation hearing transcripts.”

“I, er, have my, um sources.” Sam couldn’t meet her eyes.

Scully stared at him. Mulder was lying! Why would he lie about something like that? She had no doubt that the Lone Gunmen could dig up anything hidden by an Alpha Clearance. What if her earlier impression were right? Well, there was an easy way to check. “Fox?” she said quietly.

“Don’t call me that,” Sam snapped, surprised at the ferocity of his response.

“Just checking.”

Sam looked up. “Checking what?”

“You’re acting really weird—even for you, Mulder.”

“Scully…you have to trust me.”

Her eyebrow raised. “Isn’t that asking a lot? After all you’ve done this past winter to demonstrate your lack of trust in me….”

“Can’t I have a second chance?” He gave her his best apologetic smile, which withered under her glare. “Uh…okay. How much harm could it do?” Her eyebrow raised again. “Wouldn’t I be less annoying pouring over some printouts than wandering around here begging to help?”

“Pick up the cards, Mulder.” A softening around the eyes admitted her underlying affection for her partner.

 

**Project quantum leap**

**Acceleration chamber**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**4:39 p.m.**

 

Mulder took in the young woman, the pair of Marines, and the gun barrel making a permanent dent in his right temple. “So…Crane. We’re back to the stand-off.”

“But the scenery’s better. Sammy Jo, honey, how long until the computers get here?”

Her brow wrinkled. “First of all, I am not your ‘honey.’ And second, it takes awhile to back up the hard drives.”

“Sorry, sweetie. Just how long is this back-up going to take?”

“Several hours.”

“And you expect me to believe you’re not stalling for time.”

Sammy Jo shrugged. “We only have one CD-R drive.”

“You have as many computers as possible in here in an hour or I start shooting.” He made a big show of checking his watch while still keeping an eye on the guards.

“Getting a little anxious, huh?”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

 

Calavicci pulled out a cigar. “It sounds like everything is in control—for the moment. Too bad we can’t do a Trojan Horse.”

“Why can’t we?” Gooshie wondered.

“Oh, hello, and we’re going to fit a full-grown Marine in the body of a Gateway GP6-300?”

“Even I know that, Admiral. I was thinking we gut the insides of _his_ computer.”

“Gooshie, you’re positively devious. This is a whole new side of you.”

“Not really, Admiral. It’s actually a mercy killing.”

Al chuckled. “How long?”

“An hour. Less, if you help.”

He tossed his smoke aside. “Open her up.”

 

**Lazerby’s laboratory**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**5:02 p.m.**

 

The modified Selectric clacked out a final line. Scully yanked it out of the carriage and handed it to Sam. He glanced at it, made a few notes on a yellow pad, and passed it to Illya, who taped it next to the other twenty seven pages on the wall. He studied the printout thoughtfully.

Sam reviewed his notes, then joined Kuryakin at the wall. Scully, feeling very much a third wheel, drifted toward the door. Napoleon chose that moment to drift in. “He’s annoying you too much yet?”

“He’s being a real help. I don’t understand it, but he seems to have a good knowledge of computer science—Artificial Intelligence, even.”

“But he’s not a scientist, I thought.”

“He’s not.” Scully shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he gained some insight when he was wired into that AI last year. In any case, he’s making a nice contribution.”

“Here,” Kuryakin said suddenly, pointing at a point somewhere in the middle of the program.

Sam looked over the spot. “Exactly.” He thought about it a moment, scribbled some lines on a paper, and tore it off his pad. Illya snatched it from him and hurried out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with a small stack of punch cards. He inserted them into the main stack and fed them into the computer. The CPU took the input and clacked out one sentence: “Ready for scoop.”

All four agents exchanged glances. “Now what?” Solo asked.

“We scoop.” Kuryakin lifted up the helmet. “Napoleon, you wouldn’t know what you were doing. Dana, Mulder, you’re already displaced. Therefore, I am the most logical person to actually operate the scoop.” He sat down on the scoop seat and placed the helmet on his head. “If someone would be so kind to throw the switch?”

“It’s not tuned to your specific brainwaves,” Scully pointed out.

“We’ll have to take the risk that it doesn’t matter. The switch, please.”

 

**project quantum leap**

**control room**

**may 14, 1999**

**5:04 p.m.**

 

“That’s it,” Calavicci said, tossing the last vacuum tube aside. “Have security send down the smallest Marine with the biggest gun. I’m going to check on Sam again.”

 

**project quantum leap**

**acceleration chamber**

**5:05 p.m.**

 

“Thirty-eight minutes until I start shooting,” Crane pointed out. “This thing ready to go?”

“Sure,” Sammy Jo lied.

“Actually, the chamber’s not even powered up yet,” Mulder said, “although I don’t know how I know that.”

Crane cocked the hammer again. “Is he right?” he said, looking directly at Sammy Jo.

“Helluva time to magnaflux.”

“What?”

“He’s right.”

“Fix it.”

Sammy Jo glanced up at the ceiling. “Ziggs, you heard the man.”

“Are you sure?” the A.I. questioned.

“You’re not the one who’d have to clean up the brains if he shoots.”

“Very well.”

The chamber started to hum, the walls began to glow bluish-white. “That’s more like it,” Crane said.

 

**Lazerby’s laboratory**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**5:05 p.m.**

Sam, Scully, and Solo sat in a row, watching because it was all they could do. “Anything?” Napoleon prompted.

“It’s like moving through water—dark, buoyant, yet—ah!”

The Imaging Chamber door opened. “Hey, Sam.” Sam acknowledged the holgram’s arrival with a nod. “We’re about to—“

“I’m there! Can’t see anything, but I hear a couple people breathing, a hum, and—a gun hammer clicking.”

Sam shot a glance at Al. The hologram seemed frozen, stuck in mid-sentence. Sam’s eyes widened.

“Illya?!” Napoleon exclaimed suddenly.

“He’s not breathing!” Scully jumped off her stool and reached the time scoop in two steps. She reached for the helmet, to pull him out of the contraption…and found her hands stopped some six inches from it. “I can’t reach him!”

Napoleon started for his partner as a horrible groaning filled his ears and vibrated the room. A battered wooden box began to materialise in the middle of the room.

 

**Project quantum leap**

**Acceleration chamber**

**may 14, 1999**

**5:05 p.m.**

 

Crane let the gun hammer settle back into place as…time froze.

 

**project quantum leap**

**CONTROL ROOM**

**may 14, 1999**

**5:06 p.m. (relative)**

 

A battered blue box materialized in a corner of the room, its arrival trumpeted by a horrendous groaning. As soon as it had solidified, the door flew open and a tall, stocky, blond man popped out. He had on yellow and black striped pants, a disgustingly-mismatched patchwork frock coat, a blue and white polka dot tie, and an arrogant expression. He inspected the room visually, hands on hips. Satisfied that neither the technician, the computer, or time were moving, he nodded to himself and called over his shoulder. “It’s quite safe, Peri. You can come out now.”

A small, curvaceous young woman stepped out. She wore her dark hair in a long bob and had on matching leotard and shorts. “Wow, Doctor, it’s like a freeze frame or something.”

“Something has indeed frozen. Time itself.”

Peri blanched. “I-I-I-sn’t that impossible?”

“Technically, yes. We’ll have to unfreeze it, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” She looked around the room. “Where do we start?”

“By finding out the extent of the damage. Come along.” The Doctor swept out of the room.

 

**Lazerby’s laboratory**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**5:06 p.m.**

 

Solo drew his gun as the box finished materialising. The door popped open; a young blond man in Edwardian cricket gear stepped out. “Ah, hello,” he said in a breathy English tenor. “Not the most friendly way to greet the cavalry, is it?”

“Who are you?” Napoleon asked.

“I’m the Doctor, and—is it all right if I step out of my craft?”

“Sure.”

The Doctor brought a ginger-haired teenager in an English public school uniform out with him. “—this is Turlough. We’re here to help.”

“Help with what?”

“Your time trouble, of course.”

“He can help,” Sam said. The man seemed familiar to him, although he couldn’t think of where he knew him from.

The Doctor smiled. “Thank you, Doctor Beckett.”

“Doctor Beckett?!” Scully exclaimed.

“You know who I am?” Sam wondered

“Ah….just what’s going on here?” Solo asked.

 

**Project qunatum leap**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**5:08p.m. (relative)**

Peri hugged herself as she trailed after the Doctor. In each room, each lab, no one and nothing moved—no air circulation, no computer hum, no breathing. It was like being in a massive waxworks display. To know that all these people were actually alive, somehow caught in a nanosecond of time…well, it really gooned her out. “I-I-I-I think the entire building’s affected,” she commented finally.

“Indeed.” The Doctor stopped, sighed, and spun around to face her. “Stay here, Peri.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the TARDIS. I have some detection equipment there that should give us a broader perspective.”

“Why can’t I come with?”

“Would you like to walk through all those rooms with all those people again?”

“I’ll stay here.” She smiled with a bravery she didn’t quite feel.

 

**Lazerby’s laboratory**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**5:08p.m.**

 

“Look…could you please put that gun away?” the Doctor asked. “I find it difficult to formulate a layman-friendly explanation with a weapon in my face.”

Napoleon considered the request. The boy seemed harmless enough; the Doctor, unknown. He felt confident enough that between himself and Scully, they’d be able to handle him. He slipped his Special back inside its holster. “I’m all ears.”

“And you can start,” said Scully, “by explaining why you called my partner ‘Doctor Beckett.’”

“Because he _is_ Doctor Beckett.”

“It’s true, Dana,” Sam confirmed. “Mulder is back in 1999, at Project Quantum Leap. You see his aura when you look at me. I leaped into him to put right something that went wrong—probably your coming back into the past in the first place.”

“But something in your experiment went wrong, which is why the TARDIS was drawn here.”

“TARDIS?” Realization dawned. “I leapt into you, didn’t I?”

The Doctor nodded. “Several years ago. But that’s irrelevant to the current situation…I think.”

“You’re only confusing them more, Doctor,” Turlough remarked.

Scully nodded agreement. “What’s leaping? Why do you appear as someone else and not yourself? And is Mulder okay back in the future?”

“Well—“

“I’m sure Doctor Beckett would be happy to answer all your questions once the current crisis is over,” the Doctor interrupted. “Now. The problem stems from this…time scoop.” He waved a hand toward it. “It seems to have intersected with the same space in a different time. The temporal energy, however, is in such a flux in both places that in touching the future, the time scoop has created a sort-of time bubble, trapping both points in a moment.”

“So 1999’s experiencing the same effect?” Solo asked.

“Yes. Or worse.”

“Worse?”

The Doctor looked pointedly at Sam. “Isn’t your project located here?”

“Well, if this is the abandoned research facility that we were assigned….yes.”

“Then your whole project could be caught in the bubble.”

“Actually, I think it is. Al hasn’t moved in minutes.”

“Al?” asked Scully.

“My observer. He appears to me as a hologram, but he’s based at the Project in 1999. He was in contact when the bubble formed and hasn’t moved since.”

“Then we haven’t any time to lose.”

“We’ll have to burst the bubble,” Scully concluded.

“Yes. I will need your help—and Doctor Beckett’s, too. Come along.” He started back to the TARDIS, noticed his companion, and added, “Could you and our weapons expert make yourselves useful? Bring us a cuppa or something, eh?” He herded Scully and Sam into the craft.

Turlough sniffed and buttoned his blazer in a clearly put-upon way. Solo sighed, then commented, “Why can’t we get into a situation where _I_ do all the work and everyone _else_ sits around picking their asses?”

 

**Project quantum leap**

**MAY 14, 1999**

**5:11 p.m. (relative)**

 

The Doctor wandered through the project hallways, eyes glued to the screen of a handheld detector. He changed directions randomly, moving so swiftly that Peri had to run to keep up with him. Finally, after he all but spun 360° in pursuit of a reading, she squawked in frustration. “Will you stand still for a moment!”

He whirled to face her. “Why?”

“You’re making both of us dizzy!”

“So?”

“Haven’t you learned _anything_ yet?”

“The effect is limited to this facility, and originated in some other time…but the same space.”

“Can’t we do anything?”

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly.

 

**LAZERBY’S LABORATORY COMPLEX**

**BREAK ROOM**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**5:12 P.M.**

 

“Get the tea, he said,” Turlough grumbled, following Napoleon into the small room. “Next he’ll tell us to be quiet and leave him alone while he works. And then he’ll forget that we exist for the next several hours.” The young man sighed, feeling rather put-upon. “And then, when he realises what he’s done, he’ll think that a smile and a trip to some place ‘nice’ will make up for it.”

“I know what you mean.” Napoleon checked his pockets for change. Studying the small selection he pulled out, he added, “Do you think everyone’s gonna want tea, or just him?”

“Oh, just him, I shouldn’t wonder.” He watched the agent shove the coins in the vending machine. “Do _you_ have to put up with a lot of this?”

“No, not really. Usually, I’m the one in charge. Usually, we’re out in the field busting heads.”

“Ah, some form of enforcement agent, then?”

“You could describe it like that.” Solo pulled the full cup out of the machine and gave Turlough a sympathetic smile. “It could always be worse.”

“Yes, it could. I could still be stuck in that awful public school….”

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**May 14, 1966**

**5:16 p.m.**

 

Napoleon handed the tea to the Doctor, who sniffed at it, smiled wanly, and promptly abandonned it on a nearby table. He then nodded at Solo and Turlough. “Thank you both. Now, if you wouldn’t mind awfully keeping out of the way…?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Turlough, letting his annoyance ooze through his movements, headed for the stools in the corner.

Solo debated leaving the room—perhaps even leaving the complex. Although he felt completely useless, he still didn’t trust the Doctor enough to leave his helpless partner with him. He sighed, and pulled out his communicator. “Open Channel ‘A.’”

“Rodgers here, Mister Solo.”

“Can you arrange for dinner to be sent down to the laboratory level? Enough for 6?”

“Sure. Chinese, pizza, or barbeque?”

“Ah…Chinese. Channel ‘A’ out.” He tucked the pen back into his jacket pocket and joined Turlough in the corner.

The Doctor settled against a counter. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” He gestured toward a pile of electronic bits, metal conduit, and wiring that he, Scully, and Sam had brought out of his TARDIS. “We’re going to assemble a device that will allow us to penetrate the time bubble.”

“What’s causing it?” Scully asked.

“I don’t know. If the time scoop was reaching into the same place in space—“

“—then it was reaching into the Acceleration Chamber,” Sam finished.

“Would it have been powered up?”

“Not normally. But if there was a hostage crisis going on in there—“

“Hostage crisis?” Scully’s eyes narrowed. “How much _more_ are you keeping from us, Mul—Doctor Beckett?”

“Call me ‘Sam,’ please, Dana.”

“All right, _Sam,_ what else is going on at this project of yours that you haven’t told us about?”

“Yes, do tell,” the Doctor added. “It could help us rescue our trapped friend here.”

Sam stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m not trying to be evasive or anything, really, Dana.”

Scully folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, really? You somehow disguise yourself as my partner, you try to convince me you _are_ my partner even though you know much more about temporal physics and artificial intelligence than possible for an Oxford-trained psychologist with an editic memory—“

“Does it count that I have an editic memory, too?”

Her lips wrinkled. “Doesn’t everyone? You, Mulder, Illya… You, too, Doctor?”

“Oh, goodness, no. I’ve forgotten more in my lifetimes than any Human—even with a photographic memory—can recall.”

Turlough called out, “Shouldn’t you be getting on with things, Doctor?”

The Time Lord shook his head. “I need Dana’s cooperation, and I don’t think I’m going to get it until Sam explains himself properly.” He waved a hand at them. “Do continue. It’s most entertaining.”

Scully raised an eyebrow at Sam. “Well?”

“Well…I don’t know what’s going on in the future, really. All Al would tell me was that Mulder was being held hostage in the Acceleration Chamber.”

“And the Acceleration Chamber is…?”

“Where leaping in time happens.”

“Oh. So, if the Acceleration Chamber was powered up, and the time scoop touched it…. No wonder there’s a time bubble.”

“Exactly.” The Doctor reached for two conduit segments. “We should all feel lucky that the effects weren’t worse.”

“So the device we’regoing to construct—“ began Sam.

“Is a ‘time needle,’ as it were. It’s a delicate operation, actually. We need to be precise in both construction and implimentation. If we’re not, well, our friend in there—“ he gestured toward the time scoop and the temporally-challenged Kuryakin, “could suffer.”

“We can’t have that,” Napoleon piped up.

“No, no, of course not.” The Doctor brushed him off with a wave of the hand.

Scully sighed. “There isn’t an easier way of solving the whole problem, is there?”

“Blimlovich Limitation Effect?” Turlough threw in.

“Wouldn’t _that_ be a handy solution?” said the Doctor. Feeling three pairs of eyes on him demanding explanation, he added, “We can’t risk it. Without knowing exactly where Illya is in 1999—let alone knowing if he is even still alive in that year—“

Turlough jumped off his stool. “Does it have to be a 1999 version? Surely any future version—“

“It doesn’t work like that. Remember the Brigadier.”

“You’re the expert.” The young man resumed his seat with a irritated rebuttoning of his school blazer.

“What do you want us to do?” Sam asked.

“Hand me things as I call for them.”

“And we need physics degrees for this?” wondered Scully.

“Yes, actually. Pliers, please.” The Doctor held out his hand.

 

**project quantum leap**

**may 14, 1999**

**7:20 p.m. (relative)**

 

Peri had been following the Doctor around for what seemed like days. Finally she plopped down in the middle of a hallway, exhausted. The Time Lord had moved some 500 yards before realising he didn’t have his entourage. He spun on his heel and glared at the girl. “Well?”

“Well, what? We’ve been roaming these halls forever, Doctor. They’re all starting to look the same to me. Do you have _any_ idea what you’re looking for?”

“Of course I do. You simply wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m not completely stupid, you know.”

“Really?”

“I’m _not.”_

The Doctor puffed his cheeks out, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Perhaps you’re right, Peri. Perhaps I should think things out some. Let’s return to the TARDIS.” He offered her a hand up.

 

**en route to stallion's springs, NM**

**MAY 15, 1999**

**1:06 A.m.**

 

Kuryakin pulled the rental off the side of the road and got out of the car. Lazerby joined him. In the distance, the mountain glowed blue. “It’s not moving,” the old man said.

“What’s not moving?”

“Last week I came out here, and the blue glow moved—like waves of energy washing over the mountain. Now, it’s like a photograph.”

“Then perhaps we should see exactly how fast a Taurus will actually go.”

 

**Project quantum leap**

**acceleration chamber**

**MAY 15, 1999**

**1:27 a.m.**

 

The Doctor thought. Or, at least that’s how he would have described it had Peri called him on it. He sat in a chair, feet up on the frozen Mulder, feet crossed at the ankle, head tilted back and a loud snore issuing forth from his mouth. Sure, he seemed to think even in his sleep, but her body clock said it was still afternoon. As she had never been able to nap well, she had to make do with skimming through a book, trying very hard to ignore the real-life mannequins, and hovering in case something happened. And she was more than ready for something to happen.

Footsteps came into the adjoining Control Room.

Peri jumped to her feet and shook the Doctor awake. “Doctor—“

“What? Huh? Peri, please, I was _thinking…._ ” Then he heard it, too. “This is very bad.”

“Bad? Bad how?”

“If someone unaffected by the time bubbles enters it—“

“But we—“

“We have the TARDIS protection, Peri. Anyone else—“

Two figures appeared in the doorway. Lazerby continued into the room; Kuryakin collapsed in midstep. As the old man turned around to see what happened, the Doctor bounded to the Russian’s side. He helped him sit up. Kuryakin’s eyes remained closed; he breathed shallowly, but he still seemed vaguely conscious. “I can see…!”

“See what?” the Doctor asked.

“Napoleon…but he’s so _young_ and…the FBI agents and…it’s the past! I can see into the past!”

 

**Lazerby’s laboratory**

**MAY 15, 1966**

**1:28 a.m.**

 

Scully had curled up on a counter; Sam crashed in a chair. Napoleon was fighting keeping his eyes open. Only Turlough and the Doctor remained awake. Turlough had been reduced to passing tools over as the Doctor constructed his time needle. In his boredom, he noticed Kuryakin twitch. “Doctor…he moved.”

“What?” The Time Lord peered over his half-frame spectacles. “Breathing?!” he wondered, surprised. He approached the bubble, a hand out in front of him. Six inches out he reached a barrier, but a squishy one. “Something’s not right….”

“The future!” Kuryakin said suddenly. “I can see into the future!”

 

**project quantum leap**

**Acceleration chamber**

**MAY 15, 1999**

**1:28 a.m.**

 

“Is he okay?” asked Peri, squatting down next to the Time Lord.

“What happened?” Lazerby asked. He touched a wall as he neared the others—and froze.

“See what I mean about the dangers of others coming into this?” the Doctor asked.

“Then why hasn’t _he—_ “ Peri paused, taking a good look at the fallen man. Her eyes widened suddenly. “Illya?”

Kuryakin blinked. “…Peri?”

“You know each other?”

Peri rolled her eyes at the Time Lord. “U.N.C.L.E. Remember? Right after we met? Right before you regenerated?”

“Oh. Oh yes. The longest seven months of my lives. Well, next to that stint with U.N.I.T.” He smiled not unkindly at Illya. “Well, Illya, you certainly get yourself in the most interesting situations. I assume you’re in contact with your younger self?”

“I…guess. It’s a double vision of some kind. I see you and Peri…but I also see Napoleon and the two FBI agents from the future, and a teenager in a school uniform…and the Doctor.”

“Ah, blond, cricket jumper, feckless and insipid expression?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

Peri shook her head in confusion. “He’s describing you, Doctor, right? And Turlough?”

“So it would seem. The interesting question is, why don’t I remember it?”

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**MAY 15, 1966**

**1:30 a.m.**

 

Kuryakin’s exclamation had awoken the other Humans; they hovered as close as the Doctor would let them as the Russian described what he was experiencing. “It’s a double vision of some kind. I see all of you, here, and yet I also see a big man in a garish coat and a young woman—and an older Lazerby, Crane, another woman, and a tall man in a tight-fitting white suit with a gun to his head. But _they’re_ not moving.”

“Caught in the effects of the time bubble, no doubt.” The Doctor pushed on the bubble, found it unmoving, and sighed. “Can you hear anything the others are saying?”

“Yes. Not that they’re saying much at the moment. The man appears to be thinking, and the woman—just called him ‘Doctor.’”

Solo’s expression wrinkled. “Let me guess,” he said so low only Turlough could hear. “The Doctor can change his appearance as easily as he travels through time.”

“Not that easily, no,” Turlough said. “It’s possible that whatever’s going on here has such a wide-ranging effect that two of him have been drawn to it.”

“Uh-huh.” He raised his voice. “If it wouldn’t be too much to ask, what the hell’s going on here? And could you explain in terms _normal_ people can understand?”

“Of course.” The Doctor smiled at him indulgently. “Illya is both here and in 1999.”

“At the Project?” Sam questioned.

“Yes. Oh, it’s an older version of him, of course. The time bubble is allowing them to be in communication with each other…”

 

**project quantum leap**

**MAY 15, 1999**

**1:31 a.m. (relative)**

 

“…and thus, with us,” the Doctor finished. He snapped his fingers. “Of course! The Blimlovich Limitation Effect!”

“What’s that?” Peri asked.

“The solution to our problem.” He picked up Illya and flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Back to the TARDIS.”

**Lazerby’s laboratory**

**May 18, 1966**

**1:31 a.m.**

“They’re bringing me here,” Kuryakin said.

“Really? Why?”

“Blimlovitch Limitation Effect.”

Another horrible groaning filled the room and another TARDIS materialised in the same spot as the first. The sixth Doctor emerged, supporting the older Illya. Peri trailed after them, stopping short upon seeing the fifth Doctor and Turlough. “It’s so good to see you again,” she said, hugging the boy.

Turlough seemed nonplussed. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“Yes, well, this little reunion’s quite touching, but we—or, rather, Illya—has some work to do.” The sixth Doctor brought him up to the time bubble and their younger selves, dumping him on his feet.

The elder Illya looked up at the Doctors—then over to his partner. “Napoleon….”

Solo took in the familiar, yet unfamiliar form. “It’s nice to know that you live to be an old man, my friend.”

“In one part of the time stream, at least.”

The sixth Doctor rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and glared at his other self. “He’s as bad as you are.”

The fifth Doctor returned the glare, then forced a cheerful smile on his face and addressed the room in general. “Any last words, people?”

“Before what?” Solo asked.

“Zap!”

“As Tegan would say,” Turlough added.

“Will the two Illyas touching correct the time streams?” Sam asked.

“Very good, Doctor Beckett,” said the sixth Doctor. “It’s called the Blimlovich Limitation Effect.”

“Since the two Illyas have the same spatial-temporal composition in the grand scheme of things,” the fifth Doctor continued, “their touching will generate enough energy to cancel out the problems in the time-space continuum.”

Scully shook her head. “Mulder’s going to be so sorry he missed this.”

“But the bubble’s in the way of direct contact,” the younger Kuryakin pointed out.

“Don’t worry. The Effect will cancel out the bubble immediately.”

“If you say so.” He raised his hand up, pushing it out as far as the time bubble would allow. His older self matched the gesture…

…and the world exploded in a blinding blue-white flash.


	4. I'll Arrange For a Clean-Up Crew

Only the Doctors, Turlough, and Peri remained. “What happened to everyone else?” the girl wondered.

“Bounced back to their correct time streams, I shouldn’t wonder.” The fifth Doctor gestured to Turlough. “I believe we have a reservation at the Eye of Orion.” He gave his older self a final look-over. “I do _not_ look forward to becoming _you.”_

“Peasant.”

The fifth Doctor jammed his hands in his pants pockets and turned to Peri. “But I _do_ look forward to making your acquaintance.” He stalked back into the TARDIS.

Turlough readjusted his coat. Smiling shyly at Peri, he added, “Me, too.” Then he joined his Doctor inside the craft and their TARDIS dematerialised.

The Doctor shook his head. “You attract all sorts, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t hurt to be _nice_ to people, you know.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. But I have a question. Why didn’t you and Turlough remember me on Lanzerotte when we met?”

“Oh, that. You see, Peri, all of this happened in a cul-de-sac of time. Once their TARDIS hits the time-space vortex, they’ll forget all about the events here. That’s why I didn’t remember it.”

“If you say so, Doctor.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Come along, Peri. We have some pipe squids to see.” He guided her into the TARDIS.

“They’d better be polyethylene pipe squids….”

 

**lazerby’s laboratory**

**stallion's gate, nm**

**MAY 13, 1966**

**8:22 p.m.**

 

Lazerby let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. He had heard all the words he had longed to hear—especially "computer." The mass seemed right—approximately the same size as his computer. He had found it at last. "Weatherwax, roll the computer over."

His assistant pushed the unit onto the metal plate, being careful of the wiring.

"What the hell?" Crane demanded, standing.

"Same mass and content, Crane," Lazerby explained.

"You're _not_ sending a multi-million dollar machine into the future."

"You want a newer model, don't you?"

"You can't guarantee it!"

Weatherwax said, "Okay, Doctor Lazerby."

"Done." Lazerby hit some buttons on the side of the joystick.

"No!" Crane pulled his gun out and shot Weatherwax through the head. The lab assistant collapsed, falling onto the computer. The computer sputtered, smoke beginning to rise from the back of it.

Lazerby screamed, jerked, and fell out of his chair.

 

**outside lazerby's lab**

**8:24 p.m.**

 

The car screeched to a halt outside of the shack. "Come on!" Napoleon shouted, pulling his Special out and shooting the lock off the door.

Illya followed right behind, noting in passing that the mountain glow—which had been increasing exponentially with every passing second—suddenly cut out.

 

**outside project quantum leap**

**MAY 13, 1999**

**8:24 p.m.**

 

The binoculars showed nothing but  a neon blue glow. Mulder pulled them from his eyes—and saw that he himself was glowing. "What the hell—"

Scully glanced over to her partner. He looked surprised…and then confused. He glanced around the car, looked out the window, noticed the blue-glowing mountain…and his jaw dropped. “Mulder? What’s wrong?”

Sam Beckett looked at the small, serious woman next to him, and back at his Project. “Ohhhhhh boy!”

 

**project quantum leap**

**MAY 13, 1999**

**8:26 p.m.**

 

As Calavicci finished the last spoonful of dinner, Ziggy cleared her virtual throat. "Yeah, Ziggy?"

"I have good news and bad news for you, Admiral."

He rolled his eyes. "Just tell me."

"Very well. The bad news is that Doctor Beckett has leaped. The good news is that he has leaped into one of the FBI agents observing us.”

He stood, tossing his dishes into the sink. “Fire up the Imaging Chamber, Ziggy.”

 

**inside lazerby's lab**

**MAY 13, 1966**

**8:26 p.m.**

 

Solo barreled into the lab, colliding into an escaping Thrush operative. Illya followed right behind. He surveyed the sight of the smoking computer, the sprawled bodies, and the perplexed Thrush operative caught in Napoleon’s bearhug. Satisfied, he tucked his gun in his pants and pulled out his communicator. “I’ll arrange for the clean-up crew.”

“It looks like you’ll be nesting with us for awhile, Mister Crane,” Solo remarked, flinging the Thrush onto a stool and drawing his Special on him.

 

**u.n.c.l.e. new york**

**MAY 14, 1966**

**9:27 a.m.**

 

Waverly closed the report file with a soft sigh and looked at his top agents. “Thrush experimenting with time. This is not a good thing.”

“Agreed, sir,” Solo answered.

“Have you made any heads or tails of the notes, Mister,er, Kuryakin?”

The Russian shook his head. “It’s hard to know what he means with both his computer and device effectively dead in the water. We’ve tried feeding the program to our computers, but they keep rejecting it.”

“I see. And the men found in the lab?”

“Crane hasn’t talked…yet,” Napoleon said. “But give him over to Illya for a day or two and he will. The lab assistant, Weatherwax, died en route to the local hospital. Lazerby remains in a coma. He’s been transported to U.N.C.L.E. Los Angeles, where he remains under guard in the infirmary.”

“And there he will have to remain, until –and if—he regains unconsciousness. We cannot let Thrush gain the secret of time travel. The results would be disastrous.” He pushed the report aside, found another folder, and spun it around to his operatives. “There’s a little matter in Oklahoma to look into, gentlemen. Something involving the Bureau of Indian Affairs….”

 

**u.n.c.l.e. los angeles**

**infirmary**

**May 13, 1999**

**3:37 p.m.**

 

“We’re sorry to bring you all the way out here, Mister Kuryakin, but we can’t reach Mister Solo and since you were both involved in the affair originally, one of you has to make the decision.” Libby Claus tucked a stray red hair behind her ear, then pointed at the old man fighting for breath. “As you can see, he’s not doing very well.”

Illya pushed his wire-framed glasses back up his nose. “And he’s never regained consciousness?”

“Not in 33 years. Do we put him on a respirator or not?”

“Let him die. He’s suffered enough.” He spun on his heel and stalked out of the room.

 

**Somewhere in the space-time vortex**

 

Two people observed the scene, as played out on swirling mists. The man, who bore a striking resemblance to Kuryakin except for the coldness that permeated his being, sighed. “I don’t like it.”

His companion, a striking statuesque blonde woman with eyes as blue as the summer sky and as deep as the ocean, smiled. “You don’t like it only because you had no control over it.”

“I don’t like involving the Time Lords like that. Especially that particular one.”

“We didn’t involve them, Steel. They were drawn to the situation because of their past and future associations with all the others involved. Be glad we didn’t have to step in and extract both of him.”

“Yes, but—“ He trailed off, letting the warmth of her affection caress his chilly soul. “We have more important things to worry about, though.”

“Things that no Time Lord—or leaping scientist, or special or secret agent—can make right.”

“Agreed.”

They faded away.


End file.
